


More of what I am

by ImplicationsProblematic



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Another Modern AU no one asked for, Dorks in Love, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Light Angst, Minor Alistair Theirin/Female Cousland, Minor Blackwall/Josephine Montilyet, Minor Cassandra Pentaghast/Varric Tethras, Minor Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Minor Leliana/Isabela, Slow Burn, Some Fluff, Some Swearing, Therapy, Trust Issues, Working in every character I can and pairing them all off, accidental meetings, deliberately vague trevelyan appearance, intimacy issues, oh my god just get it together, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-01-15 21:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12328953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImplicationsProblematic/pseuds/ImplicationsProblematic
Summary: "--MESSAGE REQUEST FROM BRIDGET TREVELYAN-->Hi,I know this is a bit weird coming from a complete stranger, but have your ever lived at 28 Calenhad road? My friends and I moved in recently and we’ve had a letter for a ‘Cullen S Rutherford’ that looks sort of important..."A mis-delivered letter with sensitive contents, and two damaged people who need a lot of prodding to get together.Yet another Cullen/Trevelyan modern AU. Tags and rating to be updated as we go.I was stuck for a title, so I stole part of some of my favourite Cole dialogue.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... the general idea for this has been floating around in my head for more than a year now, but I've been dithering about ever attempting to write it down because 1) it's not the most startlingly original idea 2) I am under no illusions about my writing ability 3) I don't have the time to tweak it endlessly.  
> (I'm really selling this aren't I?)  
> I've been rolling my eyes at myself. "Do we really need more Cullen/F!Trevelyan? Do we need more modern AUs? And if we do need more, do we need better ones than anything I'll produce?" Blah blah blah. And then I thought to myself: I frequently go through periods of reading absolutely every fic I can get my hands on for a fandom/pairing- even if they're not necessarily anything special. So if I manage to facilitate that behaviour in others, it's not a total waste. Someone, somewhere might find some aspect of it they like.  
> So anyway, it's going to take some time for these two to get together, and things won't go perfectly once they do.  
> If this goes to plan it will probably be the longest fic I've ever dared attempt... I'm cautiously eager to get this out of my mind and into a place where at least one person might enjoy some element of it- assuming this rambling note hasn't put everyone off.  
> There will be some swearing. Not to any huge degree by British standards, but I know attitudes differ so... fair warning.

MESSAGE REQUEST FROM BRIDGET TREVELYAN

**> Hi,**  
**I know this is a bit weird coming from a complete stranger, but have your ever lived at 28 Calenhad road? My friends and I just moved in and we’ve had a letter for a ‘Cullen S Rutherford’ that looks sort of important. We haven’t read it or anything, I promise- we just thought you might want it. If it’s yours I mean. You’re the only Cullen S Rutherford on Fadebook, but I suppose it’s entirely possible that you have absolutely no idea what I’m going on about and the other Cullen is out there somewhere Fadebookless and ergo, letterless. Anyway, I’ll send you a picture of it so you can see if it’s a) yours, b) important, and then if you like we could send it on to your new address? Again, I do appreciate how weird this is.**

YOU ACCEPTED THE REQUEST

  
_> Hi, _  
_Yeah, that’s mine. Sorry about that. I *have* given them a new address but it must not have made it into their system yet. Thanks for messaging. A lot of people would have just chucked it. I hate to ask this, but would it be okay if I just came around to pick it up sometime tomorrow? I could just really do with getting the letter as soon as possible- but I completely understand if you’d rather not have a stranger turning up at your house._  
_Thanks again_

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

  
“Huh,” said Bridget, “He replied.”

The three housemates were sat in front of ‘The Great Thedas Bake Off’, Bridget curled up on one end of the sofa and Leliana at the other, absentmindedly yet intricately plaiting the hair of Josephine who sat on the floor in front of her.

“Who replied?” Leliana asked, without looking away from the partially collapsed gingerbread aravel being gasped over on screen.

“The letter guy.”

“See!” Josephine, presently unable to turn her head, patched the communicative deficiency with exaggerated delight. “I told you. It’s a perfectly reasonable, not to mention, moral thing to do in what I imagine is a fairly common circumstance. Not crazy at all.”

“Yeah, well now he wants to come and collect it.” Bridget shifted awkwardly, more certain than ever that this had been a bad idea. “I’ve essentially invited a total stranger over.”

“Who? What? Why?” Leliana looked up, puzzled. “Wherefore?”

 

“Wherefore is the same as why Leli- _OW_.”

“ _Do_ keep still Josie dearest.”

“We had a letter come through for a guy who used to live here.” Bridget explained. “So I messaged him on Fadebook and let him know.”

“With a lot of emotional coaching.” Added Josie

“Not _that_ much...”

“If it bothered you so much, why did you… well, _bother_?” Leliana had resumed her work.

“Because…” Bridget let out a short sigh and braced for what was to come. “Because the letter was from the Greenfell Centre.” She paused. “You know, where I go to have my ' _Oh good, you're still alive,_ _oh no, you're still crazy'_ meetings.”

As she had predicted, a pause followed as her friends tried to figure out what to say.

“Your therapy” Josie said softly.

“Yes.” Bridget swallowed. Leliana had finished and they were both looking at her now, though Bridget stared determinedly at the TV as she spoke. “So if it’s from there it’s probably about an appointment or something and he should have it. I know what they’re like with their mailing system. It’s not his fault they fucked up so… yeah.” She rambled to a halt, still staring at the screen, though Bake Off had ended.

Another pause.

“Well,” Leliana had slid along the sofa without Bridget realising. “Let’s see what he wrote then.”

With a groan, Bridget allowed the phone to be plucked from her hand.

“Okay, well firstly, he seems perfectly non-murderous.” Leliana began. “Besides, it’s not like you have to invite him in. Just give him the letter. Secondly…” she handed the phone to Josie, who had joined them on the sofa. “He’s sort of pretty, no?”

“Leli,” Josie, faux gasped as Bridget sighed. “What would Bela say?”

The redhead rolled her eyes.

“You have _met_ Bela, yes?”

“True…” Josie smiled, still looking at the phone. “He is somewhat… serious looking, but I see your point Leli.”

“I thought you liked brooding,” Leliana frowned.

“Brooding, is very different to grumpy.”

“If you are quite finished,” Bridget held out her hand, rolling her eyes as Josie failed to relinquish her phone.

“Oh Bridget,” the Antivan frowned at the screen. “I specifically told you **not** go on about it being weird.”

“It **is** weird.” Bridget huffed, taking back her phone. “And _he_ could be weird.”

“In a pretty way”

“I swear to the maker Leli-”

“Alright, alright,” Leliana rose from the sofa with a yawn. “I’ll leave Josie to guide you through this crisis of extremely limited online interaction.” In turn, she pressed a kiss to each of their foreheads. “I need to be up early tomorrow to get to the patisserie. I have to make enough petit fours to replace the ones Zevran gives away to attractive customers. Night Josie, night Grumpy.”

Bridget grumbled to herself as Leliana disappeared up the stairs. Having switched off the television, Josephine turned to her once more and Bridget prayed that her friend wasn’t about to ask about her therapeutic progress. As much as she treasured the support of Josie and Leliana, there were times when being looked at with such care was unbearable. Recently, she’d been especially averse to their well intentioned inquiries, though she knew she was lucky to have such friends. And of course, the guilt this inspired only served to redouble the founding negativity.  She really didn't deserve them.

“So,” Josie began, “Why don’t you suggest tomorrow evening to him?”  
Bridget suppressed a sigh of relief, overcome with affection for her merciful friend.

“Should I wait until the morning to reply?”

“No, best do it now.” Josie mused, clearing plates from the coffee table. “You’ll only fret about it all night otherwise and you have that report to give tomorrow.”

“Mmmmm…” Bridget glared at her phone.

“Do you need me to it for you?” The Antivan called from the kitchen.

“No! I’m doing it.” She grumbled, proceeding to do nothing.

“Bridget…”

“Okay!Okay! Andraste’s fucking arse…”

 

**> That’s fine. Someone should be in the house after six-ish if that’s okay?**

 

_> That’s great.See you then._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

There was still no answer after the second ring of the doorbell.

Cullen stood on the doorstep of his erstwhile home and glanced at his watch. 6.35. He’d been rather deliberate about the time- he had purposefully circled the neighbouring streets for a while so as not to get there earlier. She’d said after six and he’d figured half an hour’s leeway in case of hold ups would be polite. Anything much longer than that was inconsiderate- couldn’t expect them to spend the entire evening waiting for him after all. Maker, but he could hear Mia criticising his overthinking.

Suddenly the door swung open, revealing a woman with bobbed red hair, perplexingly dressed in a lilac rainmac (hood up) and matching wellies.

“I uh-” A stellar opener, as usual. “I got a Fadebook message about a letter…?”

The woman stared at him for a second before smiling broadly.

“Oh yes, I remember. Pardon me, it’s become a rather busier evening than we’d expected.” Her sing song voice had an Orlesian lilt to it.

“I could come ba-”

“No no no, I’ll just get Bridget for you,” she smiled and gave a little cough to clear her throat before turning back into the house and yelling “BRIDGET!” She was back to her melodic Orlesian hum before Cullen had recovered. “So, you used to live here?”

“I uh-” he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly “Yeah, for a few years.”

There was a loud bang and the sound of women shrieking from inside the house.

“Um, is everything…?”

“Oh yes,” the woman’s smile, though brilliant was a little strained. “Just a small problem with the pipes.” She gestured to her rain mac and clicked her wellies together with a flourish.

“In the downstairs bathroom?” Cullen asked, feeling the obligation of experience gnawing at him.

“Oui, you had a similar problem?”

“Yeah…” he sighed, accepting the coarse of action his overdeveloped sense of guilt was leading him down. “We came up with a temporary fix whilst we waited for the landlord… I could take a look if… I mean, I know you don’t know me and I honestly don’t make a habit of inviting myself into women’s houses- or anyone’s houses- not that the fact that you’re… is important… but you are and I’m not and I wouldn’t want to… but I mean if it’d help…” Cullen must have been puce with embarrassment by the time his verbal incontinence ran dry. He was about ready to bolt back to his car when the woman finally spoke.

“That would be very kind of you,” he got the distinct impression that she was disguising her amusement for his benefit, “please come through”.

 

It was an old terraced house, the kind that had bathrooms added on to the back of the bottom floor when indoor toilets became de rigeur. The narrow hallway was made narrower still by a rather overworked coatrack and lead through to the combined lounge-dining room- once two rooms but knocked through to create the impression of space in the small house. The current occupants, he noticed, seemed to be actually using the dining space for its intended purpose instead of covering the table with all manner of detritus and eating in front of the TV as he and his housemates had usually done. He followed the woman in lilac through to the kitchen. A well dressed, if rather soggy looking, woman was squeezing her dark hair over the sink and muttering to herself in Antivan.

“Bridget’s mystery man might have a fix for the pipe, Josie.” said the redhead

“Ah, that’s very kind of you.” The other woman smiled from her place a the sink.

“It’s ah- it’s nothing…” Culled mumbled in the general direction of the linoleum, flushing scarlet at the new epithet as he followed the woman in lilac through the narrow kitchen, squeezing past her housemate. “It um, happened to us a lot in the colder months.”

“You might want this.”

Cullen stared blankly at the proffered tea towel.

“For your hair,” the redhead explained, the corner of her lips twitching. “it looks like it takes some time.”

“I’ll be fine thank you,” he said, perhaps a little gruffly as he pushed towards the bathroom door to hide his rapidly flushing face. “Let’s just see how bad this is.”

 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

In the excitement of the evening, Bridget had quite forgotten about her arrangement regarding the letter and, as a result, was sufficiently shocked by the sound of a male voice behind her to lose the little ground she had gained in her battle with the sink. Stumbling backwards as the icy geyser returned to full power, she all but fell into the bath, weighted down by her soaked heavy knit jumper. The man dashed forward and dipped under the sink.

“There’s a trick to it apparently,” explained Leliana as she helped Bridget up.

“Oh,” she said dimly, brain finally catching up. _The letter guy. Cormac?…Conrad?…_

“Why don’t you go and put something dry on and fetch the letter, hmm?” Leliana suggested with a smile. “I shall glamorously assist here… passing spanners and such.”

“I, uh…”

Before she knew it, Bridget had been shepherded into the kitchen wherein Josie- whom she was increasingly sure simply had to be magic- immediately presented her with warm towels.  
When she returned downstairs after changing, their visitor- _Cullen Rutherford_   the letter in her hand reminded her- was being similarly mothered and looking deeply embarrassed.

“Did you live here for long?” Josie was asking, as she offered him what looked to be a fourth towel.

“Uh…About four years.” Cullen said, patting dry his damp blonde curls.

“Should have taken the tea towel, no?” Leliana asked wryly from a countertop.

“I-”

“You must have some tea Cullen.” Said Josephine.

“Yes, and cake!”

“Uh-” The poor man looked like as though he was on the verge of making a bid for freedom out the kitchen window.

“I um-” Bridget began, alerting them to her reappearance. “I’ve got your letter if you want to um-” She pointed lamely behind her.

“Yes.” He said rather quickly, eyes widening. “I mean, thank you for the offer,” he hurriedly folded the towels and returned them to Josephine, “but I really should be going.”

“Of course, thank you again for the help.” Josephine called as they shuffled out of the kitchen. Bridget hurriedly shut the door on a waving Leliana who seemed to have enjoyed everything far too much.

“Sorry… they can get a bit…”

“It’s ah- fine, really.” Cullen said, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes on the letter in her hand.

“Oh! Of course. Here you are.” She thrust it forward a trifle more enthusiastically than was quite necessary.

“Thank you,” He took it, and they headed to the front door ”I appreciate you getting in touch.”

“It was no trouble,” she said as she opened the door. “And you worked for it in the end.”

“Ha, yes I suppose I did rather.” He said as he stepped out into the evening. “But it was really no trouble.”

They stood there for a second in silence and, having somehow spent the entirety of their interaction thus far looking resolutely anywhere but at each other, their eyes met for all of a second before they both looked away.

“Well, um, goodnight,” he shot something a little too awkward to be truly called a smile at a spot somewhere above her left shoulder, and headed down the steps, away from the house.

“G’night,” she mumbled after him, partially retreating back into the house and trying to figure out the correct amount of time to wait in the doorway for stranger who had performed some emergency plumbing in exchange for mis-delivered post. In the end he disappeared from sight rather quickly and Bridget was soon back in the kitchen with her housemates. Josephine- magical, wonderful Josephine- was making hot chocolate.

“See?” Leliana was somehow throwing mini marshmallows into the mugs from across the room without error. “If you hadn’t messaged him the lounge furniture would have been washed halfway to Rivain by now.”

Bridget sighed as she slumped against the fridge. “We’re still going to have to call the Abernache for a real fix.”

“Yes yes little miss storm cloud.” Josie said affectionately as she passed over a mug. “You leave that to me.”

“I’m sorry-” Bridget began instantly, heart falling. “I didn’t mean- I can-”

“Hush now, I handle these things because I’m better at them than you two, not because I’m trying to spare you the hassle.”

Leliana and Bridget exchanged an unconvinced look.

“Oh okay _fine_ ,” Josie conceded. “But I **am** better at it too. Besides, I have nothing scheduled tomorrow morning and it will stop me fretting about my potential big new client- and no,” she wagged her finger at Leliana’s open mouth, “I will not tell you anything about it until I’m more certain.”

“I’m sure it’ll come through Josie,” Bridget smiled. “You’re so far ahead of your competition it’s ridiculous.”

“Yes exactly,” Leliana agreed. “I wish I could say the same about me and my competition. Did I tell you about _Patisserie Natalie_ ’s latest stunt? One week after my sandwiches with ham that tasted of despair, they did ones that tasted of _ennui!_ ”

“Well that’s just stupid.” Frowned Bridget. “Ennui isn’t anywhere near as strong a flavour as despair.”

“I KNOW!”

“You were the smart one Bridget,” sighed Josie. “No rivals in epidemiology.”

“Well, unless you count... The Blight…” Leliana said.

“But that’s the thing,” Bridget began excitedly, “People think of disease evolution as a fight with two sides- but the disease is just responding to the pressures we create. It’s not a malicious force working against us, it’s just the natural consequence of-” she stopped “I’m doing it again aren’t I?”

“A little bit.” Leliana smiled affectionately.

“But it’s adorable.” Josephine added. “And it’s nice to see you excited about work again.”

“Even if your work is terrifying.”

“Remind me what you did before you bought the bakery, Leli?” Bridget asked, sipping her chocolate.

“I held a minor position in the Orlesian government.” She replied without blinking.

“You _were_ the Orlesian government.” Josephine muttered.

“I do believe I have temporarily lost my hearing. Alas, I shall have to retire to look over the accounts.” She swept up her mug and glided from the kitchen. “Bon nuit mes tresors,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how do we get these two together? Fear not, I have plans.  
> A shortish chapter to get things started. I'll post another one tomorrow- provided that this first instalment isn't so terrible that AO3 implodes overnight due to its poor quality.  
> One quick thing:  
> There will likely be some discussion of psychotherapy etc in this fic at some point- but I'm not planning on examining conditions themselves too closely. If that changes, I'll update descriptions and warnings appropriately. My ongoing experience of serious mental illness means I personally find reading fics that do focus on that area difficult to deal with. I can appreciate that it's helpful to others, but to me it isn't, and attempting to properly represent my experiences via a character would just turn this into something stressful and unpleasant for me. But at the same time, I'm sort of incapable of producing anything wholly free from its influence. So if something needs tagging that it hasn't occurred to me to tag, please do tell me.  
> I hope this wasn't too painful and that I see you for the next chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for the kind kudos on the first chapter. The reassurance was greatly appreciated.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

When Cullen got back home, Bull was in the kitchen preparing two enormous sandwiches. They’d met a couple of years previously, whilst working for the same private security firm. Bull ran his own outfit now, whereas Cullen had changed careers, but they’d kept in touch and when Cullen had moved out of Calenhad Road, Bull had fortunately also been looking for someone to houseshare with. With similar military backgrounds- and similar associated baggage- neither of them found living with others easy but knew that living alone was not good for them. As such, they were a good fit; keeping an eye on each other without encroaching on personal space.

“You get your letter?” Bull asked from the counter as Cullen sank into a chair at the kitchen table. He would, of course, have noticed that Cullen’s return from work had been delayed for longer than a simple pick up would explain. But Bull knew him better than to ask outright if something was wrong.

“Yes…”

Bull slid a plate across the table to him before sitting opposite with his own. When Cullen did not elaborate, Bull tilted his head a fraction to the left, stretching one colossal arm across the chair back.

“They were having a problem with the downstairs bathroom sink-” Cullen sighed “We had the same thing- the landlord is too cheap to fix it properly, so I just showed them a temporary mend.”

“Them, is it?” Bull smirked. “Got yourself a couple of damsels? Get any numbers?”

“You do not need the help, or the encouragement.” Cullen groaned.

“Pfft, I know that. I meant for you- you’re wound so tight-”

“You know, this is what Krem means by ‘mothering’…” Cullen teased through a mouthful of bread.

“I am not.”

“You just happened to be making two sandwiches, as I walked through the door, later than planned?”

Bull grunted and picked up his sandwich.

“Don’t make it weird, asshole.”

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

“Did you bring them?” A familiar voice whined before she was even half way into the break room.

“I’m sure what you _meant_ to say,” Bridget faux-huffed “is ‘ _Dearest Bridget, have you perchance found time in your very busy life to scrounge some tiny cakes from your dear friend for me- even though I could very easily pick up and pay for these myself?_ ”

“Doooorian,” Isabela chastised, kicking him playfully under the table.  
  
“Well it’s alright for you,” he pouted “You have _ahem,_  'special dispensations' with the owner. Besides I earned these didn’t I Bridg?”

“Yes yes,thank you for taking me shopping.” she carefully placed the delicate confectionery box in front of him, then flicked him on the back of the head.

“Um, _OW_.”

“For the Bioinformatics Centre Launch?” Isabela asked, unfased.

“Yes,” Dorian replied, untying the box with a flourish. “Well if I saw that old black dress one more time-”

“So we got a _new_ black dress!”

“Of course you did.” Isabela sighed. “You know a lovely forest green, or a deep blue-”

“I have tried,” lamented Dorian “But I’m afraid she is quite hopeless.” After a moment he added, “Her tits do look good in it though-”

“What’s this about Bridget’s tits?” asked Anders, an ER doctor on his way into the room.

“NOTHING.Is Wynne back from her son’s wedding yet?” Bridget asked loudly as Anders collapsed into a chair beside her.

“No.” The blonde groaned “And we could bloody use her. We had 8 more lyrium overdose cases last night- and one old guy in withdrawal shock.”

The others exchanged a look, knowing better than to ask about the outcome. Anders was perhaps the worst of all of them at maintaining professional distance from his patients- but then, as an ER doctor, his role was inherently more patient intensive than any of theirs.

“Tell me some happy news Bela,” Anders slumped onto the brunette’s shoulder with a yawn. “You always have at least one nice story.”

“Hmmmm… well this morning I have an appointment with a couple who were in a horrible aravel accident-”

“Maker, Bela. HAP-PY.” Dorian groused.

“Well if you would _listen_ ,” Bela rolled her eyes “Now that they’ve recovered, we’ve cleaned up his mangled swimmers, put his poor wife through a series of moderately terrifying operations and BAM. She’s due in 3 months.”

“Another little Isabela or Isaac let loose upon the world then.” Anders smirked

“They don’t _all_ name the babies after me.” Isabela smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Sometimes it’s a middle name instead.”

“Right,” Dorian stood up, “Come on Bridget, back to work for us. The Iron Lady is on the warpath again.”  
  
“You _are_ coming to the launch thingy aren’t you?” asked Bridget as she stood to leave. “If I have to go, you should suffer through the small talk and drunken benefactors with me,”

“Sorry Bridg, I’m on call again on Friday,” said Anders.

“Which you signed up for specifically to get out of this event because you’re avoiding that cute cardiovascular specialist.” Bela murmurred into her coffee. Anders’ eyes widened comically as she spoke.

“ _Dr Leto???_ ” Dorian had been practically out the door but spun on his heel. “With the _hair_ and the _tattoos_ and the- no, no no. We have to go. But we **will** be revisiting this.”

Anders’ groan and Isabela’s laughter followed them out the door.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

The Tethras Foundation was one of the largest secular charitable organisations operating in Thedas. It’s founder came from old money- Deshyr ancestors with investments in anything and everything- and had grown even more wealthy thanks to success as a best selling novelist. Starting in his hometown of Kirkwall, Varric Tethras donated to and orchestrated charitable projects on such a scale that a full foundation became necessary to manage it all- and ensure things were done as he wanted. When the Skyhold division of the foundation needed directors, Cullen’s name was suggested, much to his surprise, by Varric’s wife. Cassandra had been involved in the internal inquiry into incident that lead to Cullen leaving the Templars, shortly before leaving the military herself. His complete lack of relevant experience was apparently of no consequence to Varric, who considered Cassandra’s recommendation to be all that was required. Though Cullen had been terrified that his inexperience would lead to disaster, the opportunity to do something different, something good, had been a gift from the Maker- and Cassandra had not been at all permissive of his initial hesitancy. As it turned out, Cullen was rather well suited to his new job. He found some of the fundraising events a little straining- but for the most part Varric preferred to handle the schmoozing and boozing himself. Cullen was much more focused on the application of Varric's money and that which he charmed out of others. The planning for the next fundraising event was underway; Varric was interviewing event managers to organise it this week and was doing so- rather frustratingly- in the relaxed seating area outside Cullen’s office. For some reason, he seemed to think it was important that Cullen met every one of them.

Varric’s signature knock sounded on Cullen’s office door at just past 2 o’clock.

“Hey Curly,” said Varric, leaning through the half open door “You got a sec?”

“Well I-”

“Great! Come out here and say hi to Ms Montilyet.” Varric had already disappeared, presumably to fetch Cullen’s colleague Thom Blackwall for the same reason. Leaving behind the report he was reading on a recently opened domestic violence shelter, Cullen made his way outside and froze when the interviewee came into view.

“Oh!” The woman clearly remembered him from their brief meeting  the other night at Calenhad road, too. “It was Cullen wasn’t it?” She stepped forward, smiling with her hand outstretched. “What a small world this is,”

“It certainly is,” he replied lamely, shaking her hand.

“You know Ms Montilyet?” Varric had reappeared with Thom in tow.

“Cullen used to live at my current address and we recieved some of his post.” She explained. “He was kind enough to help us with a plumbing problem when he came to collect it. And please do call me Josephine Mr Tethras.”

“That sounds like Curly,” Varric smirked. “And if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to call you…” he stroked his beardless chin for a moment. “ _Ruffles._ ”

 _“Ruffles_?” Josephine glanced down at her elaborate blouse, looking surprised, but willing to run with it.

“It’s a good sign,” said Thom, stepping forward and offering a hand. “It means he likes you.”

“So, _Ruffles, Curly_ ” she nodded at Cullen before taking Thom’s hand. “That would make you…?”

“Thom” said Blackwall in the same instant that Varric gleefully said: “Hero”.

“Hero?” Josephine smiled, “I imagine there’s a story there.”

“Oh there’s a story,” Varric said amusedly, watching Josephine and Thom continue what was now a very long handshake, staring at each other for all the world as though Cullen and Varric had sublimated.

“Well,” said Cullen awkwardly, seeming to return them to the room “I should be getting back to what I was doing- I’m sure Thom will be happy to help with the interview Varric. It was nice to see you again Josephine.”

“And you,” she smiled, inclining her head. “Thank you again for the help with the sink.”

Cullen vanished back into his office as the others sat down.  Just under an hour later, Cullen’s door was flung open again- no knock this time.

“I’ve got a good feeling about that one.” Varric said, sinking into a chair in front of Cullen’ desk as he set down his pen with a sigh. “She really knows her stuff. Loads of experience, great portfolio…”

“So hire her then,” said Cullen, as Thom took a seat beside Varric.

“I tried!” Varric said. “She insisted that I see her work myself first. So I’m going to some fancy facility opening party at the hospital tomorrow night. In theory it’s a similar sort of thing to what she’d be doing for us. Should be fun. You’re both invited too of course. In fact she was quite specific about inviting you Curly, _oh brave vanquisher of the broken sink..._ ”

“Varric I really don’t want-” Cullen started quickly.

“Well then stop volunteering to fix people’s plumbing.” Varric interrupted, waving a hand behind him as he stood and left the room. “I’ve gotta go call Cass, I’ll check in with you before I leave.”

Cullen slumped back in his chair with a sigh. Across the desk, Thom’s usually dour expression was bordering on wistful.

“I’m not a great authority on these things,” Cullen began, holding back a smile “But I’d be fairly confident guessing that you rather liked Ms Montilyet.”

His colleague’s face fell beneath his beard. “Was I that obvious?”

“I’d also venture to guess that she was quite taken with you too.” Cullen continued. “And if she’s very eager for you to go to this event-”

“Yes, but she’s also very eager for _you_ to go.” Thom frowned.

“You’ll note that _my_ handshake lasted barely a couple of seconds, whereas yours was getting towards oooh... _a minute?_ ”

“It was _not_ a minute.” Blackwall huffed and folded his arms before permitting himself a small smile. “But still… there was something… You’re going to come to this do aren’t you?” He asked, in a tone suggesting anything else was entirely unreasonable.

“Well no,” Cullen said honestly. “I wasn’t planning on it-”

“Oh come on mate,” Thom implored, leaning forward in his seat. “You’re my in with her. I need you there to seem slightly less desperate and creepy. Besides, it might actually be… _not entirely awful_. It’s a night out of sorts, but it won’t get rowdy or too loud. That’s perfect for you. Like getting back into the world but with stabilisers on.”

“Wow.” Cullen said flatly. “Well when you put it so patronisingly-”

“Come on, you know what I mean.”

And annoyingly, he did.

Cullen sighed and Thom expertly seized on his hesitation.

“You can leave whenever you want and this will get everyone nagging you to do something besides work off your back for a bit.”

“ _You_ are one of those people.” Cullen pointed out. “And this sort of _is_ work.”

“Okay,” said Thom, changing tactic. “Look at it as something for work then, if that’s what will get you to go. Maybe we can round up some more doctors for the Lyrium clinics. Or persuade some hospital benefactor to send some of their gold our way next time they’re feeling generous. And if we happen to have a _not-entirely-awful-time_ whilst we do that... then even better.” Thom watched Cullen expectantly, giving Cullen the rather ridiculous feeling that he was a parent rendering a verdict after an impassioned plea for a puppy, despite Blackwall being older than him.

“Fine.” He said at last.

“Good man!” Thom slapped him on the shoulder as he stood up.

“But you’re not allowed to try to talk me out of leaving almost instantly.”

“No offense mate, but once you give me an excuse to talk to Ms Montilyet again,  I won’t much care where you are.”

Cullen rolled his eyes good naturedly as he was left alone in his office once more.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

**> 9.46pm**   
**> Hey, I’ve just had a thought. When you were at her house, did you get the feeling that Ms Montilyet was involved with anyone? Don’t want to make a fool of myself if there’s no chance.**

_> 9.50pm_   
_> Is that the sort of feeling other people get in stranger’s houses?_

**> 9.50pm**   
**> Cullen. Seriously.**

_> 9.51pm_   
_> I don’t know Thom. I didn’t notice any obviously romantic photos or anything- but I can’t say I was looking. Her housemates seemed friendly rather than involved- but it was a flying visit by a stranger during which quite a lot happened. _

_> 9.53pm _   
_> You’re overthinking this. It’ll be fine._

**> 9.54pm**   
**> Okay, firstly: Pot. Kettle. Secondly: you can find her friend (???) on Fadebook right? Can you use that to find Josephine and check her relationship status for me?**

 

 

Cullen sighed at his phone, prompting Bull to glance away from the TV questioningly.

“What’s up?”

“Blackwall is smitten with the event organiser Varric wants to hire and he's trying to get me to Fadebook stalk her for him in case she’s involved with someone.”

“Why you?”

“It’s a long story.” Cullen said, as Bull paused the TV they’d both been largely ignoring anyway. “She is also one of the new tennants of my old house- it was a whole awkward thing this afternoon… But Thom knows I’ve spoken to her housemate on Fadebook-”

“Gotcha,” Bull nodded knowingly. “Well put him out of his misery then, poor bastard.”

In his hand, Cullen’s phone buzzed once again.

 

  
**> 9.56pm**   
**> If you do this for me I promise not to bring in that Starkhaven Fish Pie you hate the smell of for lunch for a month.**

_> 9.57pm_   
_> Deal. I would have done it anyway. But that’s still a deal. Gimme a second._

 

  
Cullen used Fadebook so infrequently, that he didn’t bother to keep the app installed on his phone. Opening it on his tablet, he found his feed to be mostly posts by Mia, his elder sister. Noting with a not inconsiderable amount of guilt that his nieces seemed to have grown a scary amount since he’d last found the time to visit them, he moved quickly to the messages function. From the message regarding his letter, he tapped through to Bridget Trevelyan’s profile. In her main photo she was on a pebbled beach, facing away from the camera; Cullen wondered idly if this was an affectation or simply the result of camera shyness. Below, in pictures shown from other users’ pages, she held a cake at a smiling dark haired elf’s birthday party and hid behind a mustachioed man in a group photo outside a music venue. Camera shy then. Cullen spotted Josephine in the second photo- but it was at this point that his Fadebook prowess rather ran out.

“So I’ve found her in a photo on the page of the woman who messaged me…” Cullen said.

“Is she tagged in the photo?” Bull asked.

“Er…”

“You’re a freaking Luddite sometimes, you know that?” Bull chuckled, moving to sit next to Cullen. “Let me see.” Cullen passed the phone over. “Huh,”

“What?”

“I know that guy,” Bull said in an odd sort of voice, staring down at Cullen’s phone.

“With the mustache?”

“Yeah…”

“Er, do you know him… _well_?” Cullen asked tentatively, cautious of the way that Bull tended to ‘know’ people.

“Oh yeah” smirked Bull, continuing when Cullen didn’t rise to the bait _“in the Andrastrian sense_ ,” Cullen rolled his eyes. “But not for very long… fun guy, but he was going through some shit with his Dad… big ol’homophobe…”

Cullen had- largely against his will- heard about more of Bull’s flings than his memory was capable of retaining, but he’d never heard his friend sound so… melancholy when describing one. As Cullen  floundered for what to say, Bull shrugged and seemed to regain his usual easy going bravado.

“Anyway, so if we…” Bull tapped the screen and a series of names appeared on the photo. “Which one…?”

“In the gold,”

“Ha, good eye Blackwall.” He laughed “I can see that working; a classy chick and a bit of rough- _et_ _voila_!” he handed the phone back to Cullen and began clearing glasses from the coffee table. “She’s single.”

“Thanks Bull,”

“Any time.”

  
_> 10.04pm_   
_> She’s single. Or at least- not in anything Fadebook status serious._

**> 10.04pm**   
**> Thanks Cullen**

_> 10.05pm_   
_> No problem_   
_> 10.05pm_   
_> And no Starkhaven Fish Pie._

**> 10.06pm**   
**> No Starkhaven Fish Pie. **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my many many concerns about this is that some of the.. fragments making up the chapters are too small. For example, the first section of this instalment. But I'll try and even that out. I'm also slightly concerned about my tendency to go off on tangents like 'What if Isabela was an Assisted Reproductive Technology Consultant?'. I'll try to reign that in- but I had so much fun pointlessly assigning characters different biomedical specialities. Points for anyone who can guess what department Merrill works in.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second meetings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thank you for the kudos, comments and subscriptions so far. It's such a relief to have anyone interested in this. I'll do my best not to disappoint.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

To precisely no one’s surprise, Josephine did a wonderful job with the launch. The atrium of the Bioinformatics Centre had been decorated elegantly rather than frivolously, the food was plentiful but not wasteful, and the music carried nicely, without interfering with conversation. During her brief previous visit, Bridget had witnessed the- incredibly tense- installation of the ornate, helical light fixture that she now stood admiring.

“It’s so pretty isn’t it?” cooed Merrill beside her, eyes wide. She had joined the hospital’s haemotology department just 2 months previously, but Bridget was already desperately fond of her.

“It is,” she agreed. “I think you could probably buy another sequencer for the cost of it- but it’s so… _shiny,_ that I think it’s worth it.”

Merrill sighed happily and tossed back her drink- a violently pink cocktail with multiple umbrellas. Though she hadn’t been in Skyhold very long, Merrill’s reputation as a lightweight drinker was well established.

“Do you need a ride home later?”

“Oh, thank you,” Merill beamed, before babbling on, “but Isabela and Leliana are giving me a lift. They’re so sweet- _you’re all so sweet!_  Do you want another drink? I’m going to get another drink.”

Bridget smiled as Merrill wandered off towards the bar only to be almost instantly distracted by the live band. Now self conscious of standing alone in the centre of the room, Bridget decided to seek out Dorian- someone else whose drinking she should be keeping an eye on. Soon into her search she was somewhat surprised to spot their unlikely plumber loitering at the edge of the room. Josephine had mentioned running into Cullen and inviting him and his boss- but Bridget hadn’t really expected him to turn up. Perhaps she’d been judging him by her own antisocial standards. Ordinarily, she would never have approached someone she had met only briefly before at an event like this, but the poor man looked even more awkward than she felt. Only as she walked over to him did she begin to realise quite how good looking he was. How had she managed to miss that the other night? Much as he had done when cornered by Josie and Leliana in their kitchen, he looked ready to bolt for the door- but the nervous rubbing of his jaw drew her attention to how indecently chiseled it was. Every so often, he fiddled with the hem of his shirt uncomfortably, but it was a rather tight shirt… How did someone sit at a desk all day and look like _that_? Oh this was a bad idea. . _Abort. Abort_

But infuriatingly, just then, he noticed her approaching and something like relief flickered across his (really quite inconveniently handsome) face. Poor man. Bridget was no stranger to the level of ‘awkwardly alone at a party’ at which one was making deals with demons for someone, anyone, even a relative stranger, to appear.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she started, stupidly- but he huffed out a brief laugh.

“Small world isn’t it?” he said with a careful smile. “Your friend has, ah-” he gestured briefly around him “done a great job.”

“She has hasn’t she?” Bridget said with no small amount of pride. “Have you said hello? She’ll be glad you came.”

“Yeah, my colleague and I said hi when we arrived- and then I very quickly became a third wheel.”

Looking in the direction of Cullen’s nod, Bridget saw Josephine talking closely with a dark haired man with an impressive beard.

“Oh…” she grinned, turning back to Cullen. “So that would be Thom then?”

“She mentioned him?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yes, in big way- by her standards at least- that woman is the soul of decorum- but she was definitely more flustered than usual about tonight.”

“So are you here as emotional support too then?” Cullen was looking slightly more at ease now; his shoulders no longer quite so tense and his smile less strained.

“Oh no- I mean, yes I suppose but-” Bridget felt herself begin to flush as Cullen waited patiently for her to make up her mind. “What I mean is, I work at the hospital- and I’ll be working in this Centre some of the time once it opens- so that’s why I’m supposed to be here. But I usually try and get out of this sort of thing unless Josephine is the one they’ve hired to organise it.”

“Oh, I see.” He nodded. “So, ah, bearing in mind that I have no real medical knowledge beyond basic first aid,” he continued with a bashful half smile, “what is it you’ll be doing in this building full of equipment I don’t understand?”

Maker. There were early signs of Cullen also being stealthily charming. What was she supposed to do with that?

“I uh…” she cleared her throat a little, then let her words tumble out. “I’m an epidemiologist- infectious disease mainly. So my work for the hospital is stuff like outbreak control, monitoring the development of new disease strains, identifying unusual pathogens patients have picked up abroad… and then other stuff like looking for patterns in the development of non-infectious disease and health behaviours… The Centre will have a grant for research on The Blight, so I’ll be doing that too… It’s all very boring really.”

“It doesn’t sound boring- it sounds… well, complicated certainly,” Cullen shrugged. “But not boring.”

Bridget blinked at him.

“Thank you,” she said, a little stunned. “You’re right, it’s not boring at all- I just assume other people will think it is.”

Cullen was smiling at her now in a way that was going to get her entirely too flustered if she didn’t move the conversation on.

“So, um,” she started, looking abruptly down at her drink just to break away from that smile. “You work at the Tethras Foundation?”

“Yeah, for… coming up to two years now,”

“And before that?”

For a split second, something flashed across Cullen’s face that told Bridget he was not keen to talk about it. As usual, she seemed to have put her foot in it.

“Ah… a few different things really…” He looked down at his own drink, and Bridget would have bet money that his grip on it was tighter than it had been a minute previously. No stranger herself to having something raised in conversation one does not wish to discuss, she moved on quickly.

“I would imagine it’s very rewarding- working at the Foundation I mean,”

“Yes, it’s the best job I’ve had by far,” Cullen agreed, palpably relieved that she wasn’t pushing the previous conversational route. “It’s nice to feel worthwhile I guess… and we’re well funded thanks to Varric, so we’re never too stressed about keeping projects running.”

“What’s he like to work with?” she said, perhaps a little too eagerly.

“Oh he’s interfering and irrational and he has a terrible habit of doing everything in the way that makes for the best story rather than the way that is most efficient,” he sighed with clear affection in his tone, “But he’s got a heart of gold and he’s incredibly generous with his money- keeps barely any of it himself, percentage-wise. His one frivolous personal expenditure is his car and her upkeep.”

“ _Her?_ ”

“Oh yes,” he said amusedly. “Her name is _Bianca._ ”

“Of course it is,” she laughed. “Is she red by any chance?”

“However did you guess?” he faux-gasped.

“Wait, wasn’t there a Bianca in his first nov- oh, no wait, it was Beatrice wasn’t it? It’s been a while since I read that one.”

“Bit of a fan?” he smiled, taking a drink.

“I will deny everything under questioning.”

He laughed at that, and Bridget was nearly too distracted by the rich timbre of it to catch his next question.

“Would you like to meet him? He’s just over there.”

Sure enough, across the room in the direction Cullen gestured, Bridget spotted the illustrious author, easily recognisable from his dust jacket photos and television interviews. He was currently saying something that had a small crowd of people in hysterics- even the famously surly Dr Fenris Leto appeared to be chuckling.

“Oh no I couldn’t,” she said quickly, turning back to Cullen and blushing. “I’d just make a fool of myself and then I’d be beating myself up about it for the rest of my life.”

“Are you sure?”

No.

“Yes,” she nodded, suppressing a small sigh. “Besides, I’m sure he doesn’t want irritating fans spoiling his evening.”

“I can understand that.” He conceded. “I met Ferdinand Genitivi once,”

“The TV historian?”

“Yes, and I was so star struck and surprised I just sort of… squeaked at him, Maker knows what he must have thought of me. Now I’d just rather it had never happened.”

“Exactly! If we never meet these people, there’s always the possibility that, if we did, we’d make really good impressions.” Bridget agreed. “But once we do, the wave function collapses and-”

“We have to live with having made a tit of ourselves forever?”

“Precisely.”

Cullen chuckled again.

“I should say though- about the irritating fan thing-” he started. “Do you see the dark haired woman next to Varric?”

“Uh huh,”

“That’s Cassandra. She’s been a fan of his since his first book. When Varric decided to stop writing her favourite series, she started writing to him and turning up at press events to demand he continue it. And now they’re married.”

“Seriously?” Bridget gasped.

“Yep.” He grinned. “99 out of 100 times, that set up would end in a restraining order or a murder wouldn’t it? But they’re good together. Anyway, my point was, you’re very unlikely to be as annoying as she was- and he married her.”

“Hmmm…” Bridget thought for a moment. “Well I suppose I do have an ‘in’ now…” she mused, smiling at him. Just as Cullen opened his mouth to reply, Bridget heard someone behind her call her name.

“There you are,” Dorian, impeccably dressed as ever, floated over to them. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” He draped an arm elegantly across her shoulder, then immediately removed it upon noticing Cullen in order to offer a handshake. “And who is _this_?” he asked approvingly.

“Cullen Rutherford,” said Cullen, shaking Dorian’s hand.

“Charmed,” Dorian said, a little too gleefully for Bridget’s comfort.

“Cullen works for an organisation that might be hiring Josephine,” Bridget explained quickly. “And he also used to live in our house. Cullen, this is Dr Dorian Pavus, from pathology.”

“I’m also, her dear friend,” said Dorian “But she never leads with that.”

“Pathology as in… cause of death… that sort of thing?” Cullen asked.

“No,” Dorian sighed. “That’s _forensic_ pathology. I mostly do histo and immuno pathology- the vast majority of my patients are alive but everyone is just dying to believe I spend my time with corpses. Ha! _Dying_. That was rather good for an accident wasn’t it?”

“He gets a bit defensive about it.” Bridget mock-whispered, tapping Dorian on the chest.

“It must be very frustrating to have your work constantly misunderstood.” Cullen said.

“Thank you,” Dorian said gratefully. “Unfortunately, whilst I really am loathe to break…” he waved his hand between Cullen and Bridget “ _this_ up, I’m afraid Vivienne wants you to explain your work on the Blight to some dim journalist who won’t understand a word you say anyway,”

“Lucky me,” Bridget groaned, setting her glass down. “Well it was, ah, really nice running into you again Cullen.” She said- and then immediately began to worry that she’d somehow managed to sound both sarcastic and clingy.

“Yeah, this was uh, nice.” Cullen smiled “Thanks for saving me from my awkward loitering.”

Dorian was looking from Cullen, to Bridget and back as if waiting for one of them to do something more.

“Well I should er…” she gestured over her shoulder.

Cullen nodded.

“Good luck,”

As soon as they had turned to walk away, Dorian looped his arm through hers and leant closer to ask: “ _Please_ , tell me you have his number?”

“You are more than capable of getting your own phone numbers, Dorian,”

“Not for _me_ , you daft nug. Although I could be tempted if you insist on squandering a Maker sent gift like that. For _you,_ obviously.”

“For me?” she said incredulously. “Did you _see_ him?”

“Oh I saw him,” Dorian sighed as they left the atrium. “You are fucking hopeless, you know that? After this is done I am escorting you back out there to find him again.”

“Dorian,” she sighed sadly, “Don’t do this,”

“You seemed to be getting on really well,” he protested.

“I’m perfectly capable of making pleasant conversation on a one off basis,” she said, swiping her ID card to let them through the next door, “Anything beyond that is where it falls apart.”

“I know it’s difficult, poppet. But it won’t get any easier unless-”

“Dorian please,” she begged, “I really have it in me right now to have this argument again.”

He acquiesced with a sigh.

“Okay, I’ll drop it.” After a moment or two of silence he added: “But you will a least admit that he was gorgeous?”

“Well yeah- I’m not _blind."_

“Not in the conventional sense…”

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Cullen had left the party soon after Bridget disappeared with her friend. He’d stayed much longer than he had expected to and had even had quite a nice time, all in all. It was better to quit whilst he was ahead. Much to his own surprise, he had found himself considering hanging around to see if Bridget would reappear. Talking to her had been pleasant and easy; he hadn’t felt like an engine stalling trying to come up with responses as he usually did, even with more familiar people. She hadn’t seemed much more comfortable in that setting than he had, but the way her eyes lit up as she discussed her work and her smile relaxed over the course of their conversation…

And that was when Cullen decided it was better that he left. It was not sensible for him to hang around to indulge an… _interest_ in a woman who was simply being kind to someone trapped in a public display of social ineptitude. Besides, if she returned she’d see him _still_ standing there alone. And then if she took pity on him a second time, he’d probably manage to say or do something to undermine his earlier small success. It was better to take the short, enjoyable chat with a relative stranger for the triumph it was- by his own low standards.

At work the next day, Thom was in as high spirits as Cullen had ever seen him. There was a definite spring in his step as he entered the conference room for their meeting that morning.

“You seem happy.” Cullen observed with a wry smile.

Blackwall grinned and sat down beside him, passing a mug of tea.

“Josephine. Is. _Amazing._ ” He said emphatically. “Honestly, I’ve never met anyone so…” he trailed off into a sigh. “She’s just so… and she’s got this way of talking that’s… and she’s so bloody… _competent._ ”

 Cullen blinked. He had been expecting Thom to say beautiful, charming, funny... 

_“Competent?”_

“Yeah…” Thom said wistfully. “She’s just so… I don’t know… organised and proficient… it’s weirdly _thrilling_ …”

Cullen snorted.

“You want her to… _‘organise’_ you…”

“Sort of yeah…” he said gleefully “And she’s so poised, y’know? Something in me just wants to… ruffle that composure-”

Cullen cleared his throat.

“Yeah alright, I think I get the gist.”

Thom chuckled briefly, before sighing again.

“Anyway, don’t think we didn’t spot you and her friend Bridget talking.”

“It’s ‘we’ already is it?” Cullen attempted a deflection, but it didn’t work.

“Don’t change the subject.” Said Thom, wagging a finger. “You looked as though you were getting on well.”

“She’s a perfectly pleasant woman.” Cullen replied, staring determinedly at his tea.

“Pretty too,” Blackwall baited.

“I- I suppose so- I can’t say I noticed really.”

It was a poor lie, beneath both of them.

“Cullen,” Thom said with a roll of his eyes. “You’re really going to have to do better with your lies when you’re dealing with someone with my history.”

“I…” he started with a sigh. “Look, okay, even if she is- and even if she’s smart and kind and funny and all of that… It doesn’t matter. Because I- I can’t… not at the moment, maybe not ever. It’s too much of a mess.”

“I’m sorry mate, I just meant-”

“It’s fine. Let’s just drop it and get ready for this meeting.” He said, opening his folder. Whilst he was grateful for the concern of friends like Thom, they just didn’t seem able to understand that these things weren’t possible for him anymore- if they ever had been. And the guilt of shutting down their good intentions was almost as bad as the discomfort that made it necessary.

“Alright,” Thom conceded. “So, this woman wants to start a free childcare scheme?”

“Yeah,” Cullen said, relieved to be back to business. “Shianni Tabris. She’s a community leader from Denerim.”

“Josephine was telling me about a gallery opening she organised in Denerim…”

“Thom.”

“Hmm?”

“Focus.” smirked Cullen.

“Right, right…”

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on Blackwall's characterisation. I'm attempting to approach it as though most of his angst has already happened- not that it won't still be affecting him and any ~new relationships~ of course. And also it's a modern AU, so y'know... no hanging in this story.   
> It's primarily a Cullen/Trev story, so fitting in all of Blackwall's angst unabridged on top of all their stuff could easily get messy. And I quite enjoy a slightly cheerier Blackwall for a change. So yeah... this was just an explanation of sorts for any Blackwall fans- I'm not just deliberately ignoring huge parts of his character. I love a good angsty Blackwall fic, but I don't think I can make that work here.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lingering impressions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hated writing this chapter. Particularly the first section, which has been brutally edited as I removed all of my deeply uncomfortable projection and oversharing. o_0 You admit very crappy things to doctors in an attempt to get better. I don't think I would ever be happy with this section, so here it is so we can move on to better, fluffier parts of the story.   
> That first section is in a therapy setting- nothing much is discussed, but if you think you might be better off skipping to the second break, please feel free. You won't miss anything vital.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Bridget hated the Greenfell Centre. She hated the inoffensive art and magazines in the waiting room. She hated the laconic, yet patronising reception staff. Most of all, she hated that she was dependent on the place to stay afloat but never really seemed to get any better. 

Unusually, Dr F. Harel was both a psychiatrist and psychotherapist. Based on the many other qualifications on his office wall, Bridget assumed a single discipline was simply insufficient challenge for his considerable intellect. Frankly, she wasn’t sure how he’d managed to fit in studies of archaeology, elvhen history and art alongside his medical and psychological work- but then there was something about him that made it very difficult to pin down his age. As much of their session the previous week had been spent discussing Bridget’s fears about the upcoming party, he made a point of asking about it.

“It sounds as though things went much better than you had anticipated.”

“Um, yeah…” she said, fidgeting in her chair. “I made it almost all the way through the event… I didn’t have to hide in a toiler cubicle at any point. So… yeah, small victories I guess.”

“What stands out to me, is the conversation with this man. When we first started working together I don’t believe you would have felt able to do that.” Dr Harel said thoughtfully.

“Well I… I mean I don’t think I could have done that with anyone.”

“But having already met him made the difference?”

“I suppose… That and the fact that I knew he came here… in some weird way that helped… is that terrible?” she cringed.

Dr Harel thought for a moment.

“I personally do not believe it to be a bad thing to reach out to someone you know to be troubled.” He said. “Why do you ask if that is terrible?”

Bridget sighed.

“I don’t know. It feels sort of… _exploitative_ almost? Because I know there’s something about him, or something in his life, that means he has to come here… and I know the sort of things that could be… but he doesn’t _know_ that I know… and I know **I** don’t want people to know- unless I _want_ them to know- does this make any sense?”

Fortunately, Dr Harel was now a skilled Bridget to Common Tongue translator.

“Well, we have previously established your propensity for feelings of guilt,” he said with a kind smile “and it is easy for you to imagine how you might feel in his situation- so it’s unsurprising that you feel bad about this. Have you considered telling him that you recognised the address on the letter?”

“But I’m not going to see him again,” she replied, confused. “Unless I bump into him here I suppose… _Maker, that would be so awkward_.”

“You were conversing via Fadebook, correct? You had a pleasant conversation. Your friend is beginning a relationship with his friend… I don’t think it would be unreasonable to reach out to him.”

“But why?” she asked perplexedly. “Just to say _‘Hi, I know you need therapy and/or medication and I know this because I am a basketcase in my own right. Nice chatting with you”_?”

Undeterred, Dr Harel pressed on.

“We know that connecting with new people is not easy for you,” he continued  “And yet you have managed to enjoy talking to this man. I would not be so eager to discount an opportunity for a new friendship- or even something more.”

“Oh that’s just- I mean-” Bridget flushed, looking anywhere but at the doctor. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Remind me how long it has been since your last relationship, Bridget.” He said calmly

“Do I have to?” she groaned “I’m sure you have it written down or memorised.”

That earned her a rare smile.

“Okay,” he continued, amused. “We won’t go into that, but I think that with the progress you have made-” Bridget, who did not feel she had made much progress whatsoever, suppressed the urge to roll her eyes- but she was sure Dr Harel somehow knew she had the thought. “-you are now at a point where a relationship, with the right person, could be a positive addition to your life.”

“The right person being, _this random guy_?”

“Not necessarily,” he continued patiently “But given that one of your many concerns about relationships is how they will respond to your health and your difficulties- and bearing in mind that I of course cannot divulge any information regarding other Greenfell patients- this may be a good fit for both of you.”

“Can we-” she sighed “Can we talk about something else please?”

“Of course,” Dr Harel said, to her immense relief, though he jotted something down on her notes. “How are things with your housemates?”

“They’re… they’re great. They’re wonderful. Which just makes it even worse that I resent them so much sometimes.”

“Remind me why that is,”

“Because they’re so… I don’t know. _Normal_. They laugh and smile like they mean it and love their jobs and try new things and have relationships and they don’t cry all the time… And I know I don’t know everything going on in their lives or in their heads… and everyone has their own crap to deal with… And of course I want them to be happy and successful and wonderful. I _love_ them. And they’ve both had terrible stuff to deal with in the past. I know they aren’t the problem at all- **I am**. And I hate myself for feeling this way, but I can’t help it. And then I resent them for being better people and not resenting their friends for basic happiness. And then I feel even worse.”

“If they have had their own difficulties and come through them, does that not mean that you can one day have these things as well?”

“ _But they got better._ ” She implored, knowing she was being childish. “And I **can’t**. My mind fundamentally… molecularly _cannot get better_. I have to keep tweaking meds and doing therapy until I die- which statistically is likely to happen sooner anyway- and that’s all just to stay as I am now, not improve. If anything I’m likely to get worse. And I..." her voice wavered. "I don’t know what I did to make this happen.”

“You didn’t do anything, Bridget.” He said firmly, as he had done many times before.

“I know,” she sighed. “But then, in a way that’s worse. Because then it’s just… _what I am_ , isn’t it? I’m just intrinsically… _argh_.” She rubbed her hands over her face. “I’m sorry. I’m doing this again and I know it’s unhelpful.”

“It’s natural to be angry about your circumstances. Very angry in fact- and in individuals such as yourself who are non-confrontational to the point of pain, this anger is often unexpressed outside of treatment contexts. So do not apologise for that. What I will say however, is that although you are correct that your condition is lifelong, some of your other difficulties- such as those arising from your accident- may not always be a problem, given your commitment to treatment. And once those are lessened or absent, you will find yourself better able to cope with your intractable symptoms. Positive developments in your life may also help you to do this.”

“Like a relationship?” she sighed, folding her arms.

“That is one potential example, yes.” He replied innocently.

“I’ll… try to think about it.”

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Bull was conducting a ‘Senior Staff Meeting’ in their lounge when Cullen returned from a late work night. What this meant in practice, was that Krem, his longterm friend and right hand man, had come over and they were playing videogames in the company of a fair few empty beer bottles. Late returns and early starts on both their parts meant that this was the first time Cullen had seen Bull since his uncharacteristic evening out.

“ _Cullen!_ ” Krem called from the sofa, beer in hand, as Cullen set down his work bag on the dining table. “Grab a controller- the chief is extra beatable tonight.”

“I am not- _As-eb vashe-qalab!_ ” Bull swore as he tossed the controller down onto the cushions in frustration. “Sneaky Vint must be cheating. I’m going to the bathroom.”

“For such a big guy, he really can strop like a toddler,” Krem said, amusedly, prompting Cullen to chuckle in agreement.

“How’ve you been, Krem?”

“Fair enough thanks,” he replied. “Work’s good at the moment- that goes a long way. Yourself?”

“Yeah, can’t complain too much,” said Cullen, mostly truthfully as it occurred to him that Krem might be able to shed some light on something that had been bothering him. “This is a bit out of the blue, but has Bull ever mentioned an ex named Dorian to you?”

Krem thought for a moment.

 _“Dooorian_ … Wait, Tevinter? With a…?” he wiggled his fingers over his top lip.

“That’s the one.”

“He did yeah… I think it must have been a couple of years ago now. They were together for quite a while, but I only met him the once.” Krem said, frowning slightly. “It seemed more like a private affair than ‘appearing together in public’ thing. I got the sense there was something complicated going on with the guy’s family… don’t think they approved. The chief seemed happy to carry on as they were, but Dorian ended it. Why’d you ask?”

“I met him at this party at the hospital my coworker press-ganged me into attending.”

“How did he seem?”

Cullen thought for a moment.

“Fine I guess? I don’t know really. I didn’t know whether to mention it to Bull or not.”

“Mention what to me or not?” asked Bull, reappearing from the hallway. Cullen would never understand how he trod so lightly.

“I ran into that guy Dorian that you pointed out in that photo.” Cullen said. There was not a lot of point in attempting white lies when it came to Bull.

Bull grunted.

“Thought you might. He works at the hospital.”

Cullen and Krem said nothing as Bull settled back on the sofa.

“Is he doing okay?” Bull said at last not looking at either of them.

“Seemed to be.” Said Cullen tentatively, sharing a look with Krem. “Didn’t really speak to him for very long. He just came over to tell the woman I was talking to she was needed elsewhere.”

He regretted the words before they were fully formed.

“ _Cullen, Cullen, Cullen,_ ” Bull grinned, now turning to look at him. “You were talking to a woman?”

“ _At a party_?” chimed Krem.

“Not like that,” Cullen said hurriedly. “The woman who lives at my old house and got in touch with me about that letter was there. She works at the hospital too. It was just a small world sort of conversation.”

“For how long?” asked Bull

“What?”

“How long were you talking?” supplied Krem

“I… I don’t know, not more than 10 minutes certainly.”

“But you only stopped because he spirited her away?” 

“What’s her name?” asked Krem.

“I believe we were talking about Bull and this guy,” Cullen insisted, dangerously close to blushing. “Not Bridget and myself.”

“ _Bridget_ ,” Krem and Bull chorused.

“I’m going to leave you to your ' _staff meeting'_.” Cullen said witheringly, gathering up his work things. He exchanged a brief glance and nod with Krem in which they silently agreed Krem would continue to gently probe Bull about the mysterious Dorian Pavus, and bade them goodnight.

As he made himself a rather meager sandwich which he would pass off as an evening meal, it occurred to him for the first time that Dorian’s disruption of his conversation with Bridget may have been orchestrated to give her a escape from the awkward man standing alone at a party- like a scheduled ‘emergency phone call’ to get out of a bad date. He didn’t _think_ that was the case. But the thought was there now- and although it was exactly the sort of thought his therapist endlessly told him he needed to _‘recognise and reject’_ , Cullen was of the opinion that if he could simply _decide_ not to have the thoughts he had, he wouldn’t need a professional to tell him to do so.

He sighed deeply. The kitchen cupboard he was staring at made no response.

It didn’t matter anyway. He was never going to see her again, so her opinion of him was of no consequence. And yet, if he was honest with himself- as he generally tried to be- he had _wanted_ her to like him. Which was ridiculous. Where did someone with his history find the nerve to start wanting people to _like_ him? Maybe that was it. Perhaps he’d wanted a fleeting encounter to generate a good impression, because if she knew anything of any depth or consequence about him, she couldn’t possibly think well of him.

Or perhaps Thom’s baser speculation was correct and he had just had his head turned by a pretty face.

These ruminations were of course pointless. But it would be much easier to leave them behind if the entirety of his limited social circle stopped brining it up.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

A month passed with little event. Work continued in much the same manner as usual. As the nights drew in, the days grew shorter and sharper. Josephine seemed very happy about the progression of her young relationship with Thom. They did not, she explained, want to rush anything. This was a great relief to Leliana, who was eternally Josephine’s protective pseudo-sister and confessed to Bridget that something about him made her suspicious. Seemingly a nice enough guy, she said, but something wasn’t right. It was only out of courtesy to Josephine that she was not digging into his history using the skills and contacts she denied retaining from her old line of work. For her part, Bridget thought Thom seemed fine. A little rougher around the edges than Josephine’s previous paramours, but that wasn’t a bad thing. Then again, her judgment of romantic situations was worth next to nothing, and it was easier to give Thom the benefit of the doubt knowing that Leliana was vigilant for abuses of it.

Josie certainly seemed happier with him in her life and witnessing this caused Bridget to inadvertently fulfill her promise to Dr Harel regarding the possibility of romance. Small thoughts snuck up on her. When her colleague Wynne returned from her son’s wedding in Val Royeaux, Bridget felt a vague desire to travel stirring- as she often did after hearing about others’ trips. What was unusual was that this time she found herself thinking that it might be nice to travel with someone else. Bridget was used to spending a lot of time alone, and required it for her wellbeing. She, Leliana and Josephine worked differing schedules: Josephine’s varied hugely, Leliana’s tended to lean towards busier weekends, and Bridget’s was busier in the week. Consequently, they rarely ate together and only caught up properly a couple of times a week. For the most part, this suited Bridget perfectly. Feeling obliged to spend significant portions of every day with anyone, even these dear friends, would be very stressful for her. But recently she’d sprouted the notion that _maybe,_ the occasional presence of someone else- to eat with of an evening, or to give her a reason to do something other than work and watch TV all weekend- might actually be pleasant. She’d witness the way Leliana and Isabela were together and think to herself _‘of course_ they seem happy- they have someone else who looks at them like _that_ ’.

Which was nonsense of course. A relationship, even an unfeasibly good one, was not going to wipe away all of her problems. And it couldn’t happen anyway. She was not romance material. Putting aside the significant obstacles of someone actually being interested in her, and Bridget reciprocating that interest, the potential partner could only vanish once she disclosed her problems- which she would have to do early on. And then, in the impossible scenario in which they were not scared away, she would still mess it up. She would panic. She would be unable to trust them. She wouldn’t cope with spending as much time together as was expected. Suffocated and overwhelmed, she would run away.

And yet, despite this cast iron knowledge, she caught herself in these idle daydreams- and when the imaginings required a form for her theoretical partner, her brain supplied something unsettlingly similar to that of Cullen Rutherford. Rationally, Bridget understood that, when seeking to flesh out this template, her mind had simply reached for a someone she had a positive impression of but who was not so familiar as to make it uncomfortable. And of course, if you’re creating a hypothetical partner, they may as well be attractive.

It really had nothing to do with Cullen himself. If not him, her mind would have supplied another pleasant relative stranger, or perhaps a generic celebrity composite. He was just top of the pile temporally. Besides, she wasn't doing it deliberately, and all of the daydreams were entirely innocent. It wasn’t, she insisted to herself, that weird. Not that she would ever _tell_ anyone about it. _Maker…_ Bridget decided that it was simple a transient fancy that she would not indulge. It would pass. 

The arrival of a second letter for _Cullen S. Rutherford_ rather scuppered this plan.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to come up with a game for Bull and Krem to be playing, but gave up in my haste to get this out. All I came up with was Magehunt instead of Manhunt- but 1) there's no magic in this AU, 2) eeeeeeesh.   
> I couldn't bear to have them just play a Thedas version of FIFA.   
> Anyone have any better ideas?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter this time, but this felt like a better place to finish the chapter and I wanted to get it posted.   
> Thank you so much for the kind comments, kudos and subscriptions. The encouragement has been invaluable.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Bridget had sent another message to Cullen immediately. Because it could be _important_ \- **not** because she wanted to see him. Why would she want to see him? She wasn’t excited, she was… well, slightly queasy actually. She’d received a reply within minutes- which she determinedly _wasn’t_  reading anything into- and they’d arranged that he would stop by the following evening. The intervening time was chiefly characterised by steadily building nausea. When Dorian stopped by her desk on his lunchbreak, she was still dithering over the same Seheron Fever case she’d started first thing that morning. On her way out the door after a deeply unproductive day, Bridget was cornered my Morrigan, a toxicologist she liked, generally speaking, but who always seemed to have a list of grievances with hospital procedure as long as her arm. Extracting herself as politely as she could, she attempted to rush home, but still arrived dangerously close to the time she had arranged with Cullen. At least he wasn’t already there waiting on the doorstep.

She’d left Cullen’s letter in the pile of post on the dining table. No one else was home, but Bridget could tell that Josephine had been back at some point during the day because the stack had significantly decreased in height since that morning. She dashed upstairs to dump her work things, but she did **not** get changed- why would she? She was just handing over a letter to a man she didn’t really know.

She did however, brush her hair and refresh her perfume. There was no need to make a fool of herself by dressing up, but there was no need to look and smell as though she'd sprinted home rather than driven. The doorbell rang when she was halfway down the stairs and for a second or two, she seriously considered turning herself around, diving under her duvet and pretending she wasn’t home. After a deep breath, she resumed her descent, telling herself that this couldn’t possibly be as awkward as she was imagining. Her attempt at a calming, steady pace was soon defeated by her intrinsic need to display good manners; it was very rude to keep someone waiting at the door needlessly. Unfortunately, this didn’t give her enough time to prepare what she was going to say when she opened the door, so her opening “Hi,” came out sounding rather uncertain. Fortunately, Cullen seemed too keen to launch into an apology to notice.

“I’m so sorry this has happened again.” He looked tired. Still terribly handsome of course, but tired. His tie was loose beneath his open top button and his white shirt was creased, visible because his suit jacket was shoved under one arm despite the freezing autumn air. “I don’t know why they can’t get their system to accept that I’ve moved house.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” she said “Well, for _me_ I mean- I imagine it’s quite inconvenient for you... obviously.”

“Ha, it’s not so bad.” He replied with a small smile. “I’m lucky someone nice moved in after us I guess.”

“I-um, ah…” she fumbled uselessly. “Please ah, come in out of the cold and I’ll get your letter.”

“Thanks,” he said, following her into the house. “You’ve definitely decorated better than we ever did.”

“That’s Josie’s work again,” she said as they left the hall. “You said you were here for four years?”

“Yeah, me and two of my friends- Alistair and Eowyn. He had to move to Denerim for family stuff and they got engaged about the same time, so I ended up moving in with another friend of mine across town. This,” he waved a hand “is much nicer than we ever had the place looking.”

“We had a near miss really,” Bridget explained, “If Leliana had her way all of the art would be nugs in cute outfits,” she paused, “or nugs surrounded by flowers, nugs in a basket of fruit… you get the idea.”

“A friend of mine knits nugs and sells them for charity.” Cullen said, smiling.

“Well Leli would definitely be interested in six or seven of those.” She smiled back. “Do you uh-” The words were coming out before she had time to vet them. “Do you want a tea or anything? Coffee? Soft drink.” He hadn’t said anything and she seemed unable to stop herself. “Completely fine if not, obviously- I just thought I’d offer seeing as you’ve had to come across town and uh-”

“A tea would be great, thank you.” Cullen said at last, seeming for all the world like he actually meant it and was not simply feeling obliged to accept the offer.

“Oh,” Bridget said, surprised but quickly smiling so that he didn’t think her offer had not been genuine. “I mean, great, that’s great I’ll just er- milk? Sugar?”

“Milk no sugar please- if you’re sure-”

“Yes definitely, please sit. I’ll go and um- oh your letter is somewhere in that pile if you want to help yourself-” she pointed to the pile “or not, I can get it in a sec, it’s up to you. I’ll be um, back in a minute.”

 o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Cullen took a seat as Bridget disappeared into the kitchen. He'd heard himself accept her offer before he’d actually thought about it. It was only polite to accept- right? But what if she had only offered out of courtesy and had expected him to decline? _Maker_ , why had he been so quick to agree? She’d probably had a long day at work and now she had to play hostess because he’d spoken before he’d thought. Would he even be able to keep a conversation going for the duration of a drink? Some days he could barely sustain chats with friends he’d been familiar with for years, let alone pretty new acquaintances. Not that he thought she was pretty in anything more than an observational sense of course… Oh Maker, he really needed to stop thinking about the- _purely objective_ \- ways he found her attractive if he was going to have any hope of making it through this with his dignity intact.

With a frustrated huff, Cullen turned his attention to the stack on the table containing his letter. Bridget had said to help himself, but rifling through other people’s correspondence seemed presumptuous. But would she be annoyed if he didn’t find it himself and left it as another job for her? After a few moments of tense deliberation, he started looking through the pile- she _had_ said it was fine. He flicked through quickly, lest any invisible observer accuse him of nosiness, scanning for his name. Was this the normal volume of post for three people? He sped up, irrationally anxious of Bridget returning and finding him still carrying out a task she had already given permission for. When at last he found it, his relief was short lived. There it was, ‘ _Mr Cullen S Rutherford’_ in that horrible typeface Greenfell favoured for reasons beyond him- but the envelope was open.

This letter in all probability made reference to his ongoing treatment for -amongst other things- _lyrium addiction_ … and it was **open.** Shame burned through him as his stomach seemed to fall away. _Maker, what must she think of him?_ Cullen’s heart lurched into a frantic arrhythmia as his head span, breaths stumbling as they chased each other. He made out a noise from the kitchen over the rush of blood in his ears. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t bear it. He had to leave.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

“The BASTARD. He just _left?_ ” Isabela was incredulous. Beside her on the sofa, Leliana was much the same.

“No explanation whatsoever?”

The couple had arrived to find Bridget crying at the dining table, with two mugs of tea for company. This of course, had been mortifying, but the embarrassment had helped to shut off her tears.

“Nothing.” She sighed, pushing her hair out of her face. “I was in the kitchen, and then he was just… gone.” Another sigh. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I was crying about this. I'm being absurd.”

“Well it was bloody rude.” Scoffed Isabela. “Not what you need after a long day at all.”

Bridget forced a small smile, grateful for the charitable attempt to make her feel less silly for weeping over something so trivial.

“I wouldn’t waste another second thinking about it,” added Leliana, squeezing Bridget’s hand.

Just then came the noise of front door, followed by Josephine’s voice.

“Anybody home?”

She shuffled into the room, setting down various bags and folders.

“ _Oh,_ ” Always quick to read a room, her face soon fell. “What’s happened?”

“It’s nothing, Josie.” Bridget said, sitting up straight and clearing her throat. “Just having one of my moments.”

“Like hell she is.” Isabela was fast to interject.

“It turns out that Mystery Man is somewhat lacking in manners.” Said Leliana.

“ _Mystery_ -OH!” Josephine’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide. “ _Oh oh oh!_ I forgot!”

“Josie?” Bridget asked, concerned.

“His letter.” She gasped. “I picked it up with mine and opened it by mistake. I only realised when I started taking it out of the envelope- _but I didn’t read it!_ I would never- but I meant to text you so you knew- so you could explain to him… Is this what this is about? Oh Maker Bridget I’m so sorry. I got swept up at work and I’ve been calling Abernache about the damn pipe and-”

“ _Josie,_ ” Bridget said calmly, holding out a hand to her friend. “It’s fine.”

“Is that what happened?” Josie asked, still aghast. “Did he accuse you of reading it?”

“I don’t know what happened,” she sighed. “I left the room for a bit, told him his letter was in the pile, and when I came back he had vanished.”

“Blessed Andraste, what a mess.” Josephine groaned. “I’m so sorry Bridget.”

“Don’t apologise, it can’t be helped.”

“Well at least that explains it I suppose,” said Leliana. “If the contents of this letter are… personal…”

“He’ll be mortified.” Bridget nodded. “I know I would be.”

It was strange. Having an explanation for Cullen’s disappearance was good, but it might have been more pleasant in the long run to write off the incident as a mystery or a lack of manners on his part. This alternative was… messy. This would gnaw at her.

“I’ll have to explain.” Josephine said resolutely, probably already composing the words to secure rapprochement. “I’ll stop by the Foundation tomorrow. Or I could ask Thom to give him a note… No, I’d have to explain too much and I don’t know what he already knows. I’ll explain in person.”

“Josie, you don’t have to-” Bridget started.

“No,no, I must.” She said firmly. “For all of our sakes. I can’t bear having caused this mess. The poor man.”

“If I’d just explained that I recognised the letter the first time…” Bridget sighed. “Although, how the hell I would have done that casually…?” She paused. “Should I- do you think I should send him another message- just come clean about everything? But I suppose there’s no way he’ll even open it now.”

“It’s up to you, poppet.” Said Isabela after a moment. “I wouldn’t say you need to if Josephine is determined to explain… but if you’re going to beat yourself up over it if you don’t…”

“She will,” Leliana sighed. “I’ve never met anyone so inclined to self-flagellation- and I was in the _Chantry._ ”

“But will he even open it?” Bridget asked, worrying her lip.

“Do it for your conscience, Bridget.” Said Josephine “And I will explain things to him for mine- with a bit of luck, we'll also make Cullen feel better.”

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

_Cullen, I hope you read this- but I’ll understand if you don’t. I think there’s been a misunderstanding, please let me try to explain. Josephine confused your letter for one of hers and accidentally opened it. She didn’t read any of it. She meant to let me know so that I could explain that to you, but she was busy at work and completely forgot. She feels terrible- and so do I. I had no idea the letter was open. I’m really sorry this happened._   
_There’s something else I should explain, but I’m not sure how to do it. When I found your letter- the first one- I knew it was important that you got it because I recognised the address it came from. I’m a patient at Greenfell. I get letters that look just like that. So I knew that it needed to get to you. Maybe I should have told you this the first time we met, or the second. But I had no idea how to do that without it being very weird for both of us. Or perhaps I was just scared.  I'm sorry if I should have handed that differently. My point is, even the thought of someone reading one of my Greenfell letters makes me feel sick- I would never ever have read yours. Josephine is a good friend and she knows enough about me to also recognise the name of the centre. Knowing that, she would never read it either. I appreciate that this is a lot to take on faith alone. I just wanted to let you know that the letter wasn’t read and that we’re both so sorry for this whole mess._

_o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeeeep. Well it couldn't be that easy, could it?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the wait between chapters. What I have learnt so far (and probably could have figured out beforehand if I'd tried) is that I should have had more of this written before I started posting it! Then everything would be more polished and the waits wouldn't be so long. If I ever try another multichapter fic, I'll do it with this in mind!

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The throbbing in Cullen’s skull was threatening to force his brain out of his eye sockets. It had not been a good morning. Or night. Or evening. He winced as he reached into his desk drawer for more ibuprofen. All in all, he’d managed about 3 hours of sleep, then woken to stiff muscles that had begun to seize over the course of the morning. He looked, Thom had informed him, like death warmed up. It was fortunate that Varric was not in the office that day, as he would certainly have tried to convince Cullen to go home, denying him a highly productive morning of sitting in his office, staring blankly at his computer, periodically dismissing his screensaver.

Though at the time he had not had any real choice, Cullen regretted his panicked exit the previous evening. He did not know for certain that Bridget had read the letter- and if she had, she had clearly not been too alarmed by its contents to invite him to stay for a while. Of course, the alternative to a fearful reaction was a pitiful one- and contemplation of that was equally painful, though in a different way. Although the idea of Bridget pitying him and being courteous out of charity was humiliating, perhaps it would have been preferable to making a spectacle of himself as he had done. If she hadn’t thought of him as a basketcase before, she certainly would now. And if she _hadn’t_ read the letter, he would seem incredibly rude.

When he checked his phone first thing that morning, he’d vaguely registered a notification signaling a new message from Bridget. Given that the best case scenario was a message expressing confusion and hurt at his rudeness, and the more probable alternatives were much worse, Cullen was not eager to open it, just yet. Besides, as it often was on his worse days, Cullen’s vision was somewhat blurry today and reading came at the cost of exaggerated headaches. Fortunately, he and Blackwall car-shared to the office when they could in accordance with the foundation’s environmental policies, and today Thom had been due to drive. However, this also meant that if Cullen conceded defeat and went home- as he was starting to think he may have to- he'd need to go by taxi. But he’d suffer through at least another hour of painful inactivity before he started considering that.

He was attempting to summon the willpower to get himself another tea when Thom’s head appeared around his office door. Blackwall let out a low whistle as he regarded him.

“Maferath’s balls, you look even worse than this morning,”

“Is there something you need?” Cullen groaned, his patience fraying.

“Well actually,” Blackwall sprouted a peculiar sort of grin. “You have a visitor,”

“Thom, I’m really not-”

But Blackwall was already further opening the door and ushering in… _Josephine._ He shot Thom a panicked look, but the other man was already leaving, with an affectionate brush of Josephine’s arm.

“I promise I won’t take up too much of you time, Cullen,” she said with a small smile, moving further into the room. “May I sit?”

“I uh-” he winced slightly as his head gave a particularly intense throb. “Yes, of course.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Josephine asked, as she sat.

“It’s nothing really,” he replied, utterly unconvincingly, but mercifully she did not press him.

“Cullen, I-” she sighed with a small frown. “I owe you an apology.” When he said nothing, she continued. “Yesterday I picked up your letter with my own. I get a great many letters, and after the first half-dozen or so I open them mechanically without thinking. I realised my mistake before I removed the letter from the envelope and I _swear_ I didn’t read a word. I put it back with the rest and meant to let Bridget know so she could explain my blunder to you- but the day just got away from me. The whole mess is entirely my fault- Bridget had no idea, and I wanted to explain and apologise to you in person.”

“Josephine, I-” He was somewhat stunned by her earnest explanation. “It’s fine, really. These things happen-”

“Yes,” she nodded. “But they can also cause a lot of harm. And, accident or no, it happened because of my actions, and for that I apologise.”

“Really it’s fine,” he said, trying his best to convey sincerity. “I should have asked instead of… but as you’ve noticed I’m not at my best and I-”

“You don’t need to explain anything.” She smiled. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

As she stood to leave, Cullen did the same, weathering a burst of lightheadedness as he did so.

They shook hands.

“One last thing, if I may?” she asked. Cullen nodded stiffly in response. “I believe Bridget has sent you a message. I know that I've explained now, and that you might wish to forget all of this- but please do read it, even if you don’t respond. She feels terrible about this and… well, it’s not my place to say- but please, read it when you can.”

Cullen stared at her, unsure what to say.

“I uh, I will.”

“Thank you, goodbye, Cullen.”

Cullen sank back into his chair as the door closed, running over the events of the last few minutes in his aching mind.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed between Josephine leaving and Blackwall reentering the office.

“Do you want a lift home, mate?”

“What?” he said stupidly.

“Okay, I’m taking you home. Josie agrees that you look like shit and you’re clearly not getting anything done anyway.” He held the door open expectantly.

“But you can’t just-”

“I’ve got to drop in at the community centre on Exalted Avenue anyway,” Blackwall folded his arms and hardened his gaze. “It’s on the way, so stop struggling or I’ll call Cassandra.”

Cullen’s pride, which had been injured an uncommon amount in the last half a day or so, finally gave out.

“Fine.” He sighed.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

  
Back at home, Cullen crashed out on his bed and surprised himself by sleeping until the early evening. When he woke, a lengthy text from Mia was waiting for him. Her arsenal of big sister tips,tricks and tactics for managing a dolt of a brother had always been impressive, but motherhood had made her a master. In a single text she managed to berate him about everything from his sleep to the maintenance of his car- stopping at medication, diet and work along the way- but somehow Cullen’s overall impression was one of affection. He sent a quick reply answering most of her questions and carefully skirting around the ones she wouldn’t like the answers to- which she would of course notice, but this was a dance they’d been performing for years. He sighed, remembering the other message waiting to be read.

Josephine’s visit had made him feel both better and worse. It seemed that his letter- which he now knew _did_ in fact contain all sorts of embarrassing details- had not been read. He was touched that she had felt the need to explain in person, even though it had been deeply awkward, and it was good to have some sense of resolution. But really, it wasn’t Josephine that he wanted closure with. It was Bridget. Bridget who he had been cautiously excited about having another conversation with before he had- needlessly, as it turned out- made a scene. With a small groan- he was still a little sore- he retrieved his tablet. After a minute or so of staring at the Fadebook logo, he bit the proverbial bullet. The first half covered the same ground as his conversation with Josephine, but the second sent him reeling.

After all his agonising over what she would think of him, it turned out that she was possibly in a better position to understand his position than anyone else he knew. His troubles may have actually been the basis of the tentative connection he now admitted he had felt with Bridget, rather than an obstacle.

And he had messed it up. He wished she had told him, but agreed that there was really no way she could have done so without it being painful for both of them. Though it spoke well of her character, Cullen regretted that she felt obliged to disclose a degree of personal information in exchange for accidentally discovering his. He hoped doing so hadn’t been distressing for her…

He should respond, thank her and let her know he understood, maybe even- but Maker... this was a social car crash he just didn’t have the finesse to navigate. Still... he had to do _something_ … His stomach churned unpleasantly as he read the message again. Asking for Bull’s advice, though probably a good idea, was simply too embarrassing. Alistair’s advice would be less thought out, but asking for it would be easier. But Alistair was in Denerim…

Laying the tablet down, Cullen rose from the bed. He would put it out of his mind for the moment, and come back to it when he felt less like his head had been trampled by a druffalo. If he needed to, he would strike up an inoccuous ‘how’re things?’ conversation with Alistair via text and try to naturally work in his plea for help. Yes. That’s what he was going to do. Later.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

“So we have a _Tarte Treviso_ for the gentleman, a _religieuse_ for the lovely lady, and I have also brought you some macarons to share as a little bonus,”

“ _Zevran_ ,” Bridget sighed good naturedly as he set down the plates in front of herself and Dorian. “You have to stop giving away cakes.”

“Ah, but they are _not_ cakes mi querido,” the Antivan winked and gestured to the plate between them with a flourish, “they are _macarons_ , see? Besides, it’s Dorian’s birthday.”

It was not Dorian’s birthday, but he was happy to play along.

“Oh yes, many happy returns to me,” he said airily, “21 again,”

“Haha!” Zevran gave a rich laugh and clapped Dorian lightly on the back. “Good man.”

As Zevran walked away, still chortling, Dorian narrowed his eyes.

“Well he didn’t have to laugh quite that much,” he humphed. “Exactly how much food does he give away?”

Bridget thought for a moment.

“It’s just to friends, acquaintances, attractive strangers- bearing in mind that Zev finds _everyone_ attractive… so yeah it’s quite a lot.”

“And Leliana doesn’t mind?”

“They go way back,” she explained with a smile, “Business is good- and that’s in part because of Zevran. And he somehow manages to keep Sera in line.”

“Sera?”

“The apprentice they’ve taken on. She’s very talented apparently, but a little… unruly.” There was a timely clatter from the kitchen. “That’ll be her now,”

“Well at least someone thinks I’m attractive,” he sighed as he tucked into his tarte. “It’s a shame he’s spoken for- what was it you said his girlfriend does? It’s something weird isn’t it.”

“She’s a taxidermist. Mahariel Taxidermy on Andruil Street.”

“ _Eeesh_ \- well, who am I to talk?” he mused, a little sadly.

Dorian had not seemed himself this week- or rather, he seemed like the version of Dorian she had first met, a two years previously. When Bridget first started working at the hospital, Dorian had been… well, she would struggle to describe it any other way than just _incredibly sad_. They hadn’t spoken very much at first, both caught up in their own problems and just trying to get through the work day with minimal stress- but by the end of Bridget’s first year, she considered him a friend. In the intervening time, she had pieced together various hints and slips of the tongue to divine that Dorian had been reeling from a breakup when they met and that his strained relationship with his family had been partially responsible. It was hard to know how to help-Dorian had never been keen to discuss it, and she had thought, perhaps naively, that he’d moved on. Maybe he had and he was going through something else at the moment… In spite of all the time she’d spent with therapists, Bridget felt woefully inept at counseling her friends.

“Say, whatever happened to you and that strapping blonde?” Dorian asked, leaning back in his chair to regard her shrewdly.

“Which strapping blonde?” she asked, though she knew exactly whom he meant.

It had been 2 weeks since the incident with the second letter. Josephine had said Cullen had been perfectly understanding and responsive to her apology. There had been no reply to her message, though she knew he had seen it thanks to those damnable read receipts. She understood why he might not wish to respond- of course she did. But it hurt. It had not been an easy message to write, though she did not regret doing so. Bridget accepted Cullen’s decision not to reply, but she worried what would happen if a third letter were to arrive… Prior to Dorian’s reminder, she’d been doing her best to put the whole affair out of her mind.

“From the party,” he waved a hand “Awkward looking, tall… oh yes, and the only non-staff member I’ve ever seen you talk to voluntarily at a hospital do.”

“Oh, him,” she said, trying- and, she suspected, failing- to sound nonchalant. “Well nothing happened, why would anything have happened?”

Dorian sighed.

“You need to be careful about the ones you let get away, Bridg,”

Ordinarily, she would have bristled at this, but Dorian’s recent behaviour gave her pause.

“Speaking from experience?” she asked gently.

Dorian thought for a moment.

“Something like that,”

“And have they definitely… _gotten away_?”

“I suspect so,” he said sadly. “But enough of this depressing stuff- did you hear about Anders and Dr Leto?”

She suppressed a sigh; seemingly she wasn’t going to shed any more light on this today.

“No,” she said, attempting to sound enthusiastic. “What happened?”

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Cullen wasn’t sure how he ended up agreeing to this. He’d had an appointment with his psychiatrist that morning, and as he attempted to leave the Greenfell Centre, a young man had approached him. Handing Cullen a leaflet, the boy had explained in an ethereal sort of voice that an art therapy group was starting soon and that he’d be welcome to join. Naturally, Cullen had begun to politely decline, but the words just sort of… died as the boy stared at him through a mop of pale blonde hair, smiling gently. The next thing he knew, he was sitting down in front of an easel without any recollection of deciding to do so. He looked around, and seeing that the room was not yet too busy, decided to sneak straight back outside. Cullen rose, turned, and found himself face to face with-

"Bridget?"

“Oh,” she said, eyes wide.

“Oh,” he echoed. “I- ah, I…” He fumbled for something, anything to say.

“Are you staying for the group?” she asked, setting her bag down and laying her coat over the back of the chair next to the one Cullen had briefly occupied.

“I- ah…” At least she didn’t seem angry at him so far. “I don’t know… Art isn’t really my thing.”

“Mine neither,” she said with a small smile. “I can’t draw or paint to save my life. But Cole,” she nodded in the direction of the blonde man, who was now distributing brushes, “-convinced me to give it a try last week and… I don’t know,” she shrugged her shoulders, seemingly embarrassed. “I’m not expecting miracles, but it was… sort of okay. Might be worth a shot.”

“I…” Was he going to run away again? He'd been beating himself up for 3 weeks about the way he handled things, and now this opportunity had fallen into his lap. “Okay,” he said, taking a steadying breath. “It’s worth a go,”

She smiled at him again, marginally more animatedly this time, and they took their seats.

There was an uncomfortable silence as more people filed into the room. Cullen felt tension building within him. It was good of Bridget not to mention anything, but he was going to have to explain himself, or burst under the guilt.

“Bridget, about… about everything-”

“Cullen," she said, softly. “I really am so sorry-”

“No!” he said quickly, and a little loudly. Adjusting his volume, he continued. “You don’t need to be sorry. I meant…” he sighed and she waited patiently. “I should have replied to your message, I wanted to- I i _ntended_ to. But I... I just didn’t know what to say. I was… embarrassed I guess. So I kept putting it off and then I’d left it so long that it was… _weird_. I don’t know... But if I had the nerve I would have said that I… I understood and I was grateful and I was sorry for disappearing that night.” He’d addressed all of this to Bridget’s easel, but now dared to actually look at her.

Bridget let out a small sigh as she thought for a moment.

“Honestly Cullen, if I’d been in your situation I probably would have done exactly the same. And I’m not just saying that to make you feel better.” She added, assuaging his doubt before it had even got going. “And if I had just mentioned something the first time- or even at the hospital…”

“For what it’s worth,” he said, attempting to be reassuring, “If I’d been in _your_ situation, I would have been terrified of trying to bring that up in conversation.”

She smiled, relieved.

“So are we…” she fidgeted in her seat. “Okay?”

He blinked at her.

“Yes,” he said eagerly. “I mean, if you can put aside my being such an arse, that is.”

“Shall we just call it even?” she asked, tilting her head with a smile.

“Well it really was more my fau-”

“Cullen.” She said amusedly.

“Okay,” he acquiesced with a horrible feeling he might be blushing. “Even.” 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will pick up where this one finishes, I promise. 
> 
> A dumb footnote. I was googling fancy cakes/pastries and picked two at random really as I myself generally can't eat them- but I was going to have a Tarte Tropezienne. Then I realised that Thedas doesn't have San Tropez to give it its name, so I thought Treviso in Antiva would replace it nicely. THEN I found out that Brigitte Bardot supposedly named Tarte Tropezienne- so I've had to headcannon a Modern AU Thedas Bardot equivalent and I have decided she is a smoking hot lady dwarf movie star. And I felt the need to share that with you, because I love her.   
> Mahariel being a taxidermist is a stupid joke my friend and I have that honestly isn't funny enough to bother explaining.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up right where we left off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw a tweet this morning along the lines of "Stop agonising over that thing you're writing. You're never going to be happy with it. Just leave it alone"- but I think you're probably supposed to agonise over it for a little longer than I have.   
> I hope this is okay.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

  
“So we just do… whatever?” Cullen asked. Truthfully, she’d expected him to run a mile when he saw her- but then again, she didn’t have a great track record of predicting whether Cullen's movements.

Bridget smiled as he glanced around, seemingly for instructions.

“Maddening isn’t it?” she replied. “I did nothing for the first 20 minutes last week- in the end I painted something just to stop Cole telling me to _listen to the canvas_.”

“Andraste have mercy,” he chuckled, picking up a brush and staring at it. “Well this is going to be embarrassing.”

“If it helps, I have infant nieces and nephews with more artistic ability than me,” Bridget sighed.

“How many?”

“Two baby nieces, one baby nephew, then 2 more nieces and another nephew, all under 10.” She shrugged slightly. “Big family.”

“I’ve just got the two nieces." Cullen said.  "I probably don’t see them as much as I should.”

“I definitely don’t see mine as often as I should,” she said, a little sadly.

“Well you do have a lot of them,” he smiled.

“Are you from Skyhold originally?”

“No, Honnleath-” her lack of recognition must have shown, because he hurried on. “It’s tiny, no one’s ever heard of it- it’s close to South Reach- that’s where my brother and sisters live now.”

“My siblings have ended up all over,” she painted idly as she spoke. “But we’re from Ostwick.”

“Ah, I thought I recognised the accent, I lived in Kirkwall for a while.” He explained.

“Oh,” she said, animatedly. “How long?”

“About ten years,”

“That’s a bit more than ‘a while’,” Bridget said, raising an eyebrow.

“Ha,” he rubbed the back of his neck with the hand not holding his brush. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

They painted silence for a while, and somehow, _somehow_ it… wasn’t that awkward. Still a _bit_ awkward, naturally. But she hadn’t run away, or even felt the desire the run away. Cullen seemed genuinely relieved to have cleared the air. She’d worried at first that he felt pressured into staying for the group, but he seemed to be relaxing as he painted. He glanced in her direction and caught her watching him. She blushed instantly, but Cullen seemed to embarrassed by his painting to mind her staring.

“It’s um… a blue… _shape_ …” he said bashfully, frowning slightly at his creation.

“I like it,” she said. “It’s…  _minimalist._ ”

“Thank you, but I think I prefer yours. It’s very er, green.”

“Ha, yeah.” She paused. “It’s funny, I was… I was in this… _accident_ \- the terrorist attack at the Temple of Sacred Ashes- you might have heard about it?” Cullen nodded- he didn’t seem unsettled by her admission, so she took a deep breath and hurried ahead. “Yeah, well… that’s partly why I’m… y’know, _here_.” She pointed to her head and then to the room around them. “I was already messed up before anyway, but that didn’t help. _Anyway_ , the only thing I could really remember for a long time about the blast was just… _green light_.  **Everything** was green. So for ages after that, anything green just sort of… freaked me out. My car was green- so I had to get rid of it, I gave away all my green clothes… Stupid stuff really, compared to everything else that was going on. But I got over it for the most part, and now I’m sort of… playing with the colour again…” She trailed off to find Cullen looking at her in a way she couldn’t quite place. “Sorry,” she looked away hurriedly. Why in Andraste’s name had she told him all of that? “That sounds so mad. There’s something about this place and oversharing-”

“No, not at all,” Cullen said quickly. “I… You… I get it I think…” he frowned briefly then took a deep breath. “I was in the Templars.” Bridget had just enough time to dimly register the significance of Cullen being a Templar stationed in Kirkwall, before he continued. “And they used to… well I guess you’ll already know- it was all over the news and you work at a hospital… they used to give us…” he trailed off.

“Lyrium.” she said quietly, doing everything she could to remove any intonation of judgement. The revelation that military personnel were made to take Lyrium to enhanced their performance- and make them more amenable to extreme orders- had been a scandal across Thedas. The fallout was ongoing. Once the story broke, it became somewhat easier for Templars to leave the service as specialist support and rehabilitation schemes were created. But it was still an unimaginably difficult choice to make, given the poor prognosis for those who went clean after years on the drug. Cullen must be going through things she couldn’t begin to comprehend, but Bridget knew enough about Lyrium addiction to know that, to be able to stay fit and hold a job, he had to be doing far better than most.

Cullen was watching her as though he expected her to throw her easel at him and make good her escape. When she did not, he continued.

“Yeah,” he said on a shaky exhale. “I don’t know why we ever believed them when they told us it was different from the street stuff- and once we figured out they were lying it didn’t matter because we were hooked- we  _needed_ it. Anyway, my point is, Lyrium is… I don’t know… quite a _specific_ shade of blue. You don’t see it around that much. But when I **do** see it I…” he sighed. “It’s _unpleasant_ , even after 4 years clean. So I think I sort of understand what you mean.”

“4 years?” The story about Chantry sanctioned Lyrium abuse had hit the news just over 3 years ago, and it had taken months for the recovery programmes to be instituted. If Cullen left the Templars 4 years ago, he would have been completely on his own. “That’s pretty incredible, Cullen.”

He gave a pained sort of smile.

“I had help. Cassandra- Varric’s wife- is ex-military too. Higher up that me though. She did a lot of work to expose the ah… situation to the rest of the world. She helped me deal with everything, kept me in line and suggested me to Varric for the job I have now. Well, to be honest she just made the decision and then informed Varric and I. He’s laid back enough to go with whatever Cass suggests- because she’s always right anyway- and I was just so lost I agreed because I didn’t know what else to do.” He sighed again with a small shrug. “But it worked out well.”

“I’m glad,” Bridget smiled at him in a way she hoped came across as warm and sincere, but she suspected she probably fell short of her target. Try as she might, she just didn’t seem able to smile in the way other people did- it never seemed to reach her eyes- even when they were truly genuine, as this one was. It was one of the many reasons she avoided photographs. In every picture, she looked strained, her smile atrophic and watery. This was highly unpleasant of course, but Bridget worried more that people would misunderstand or take offence.

In this instance however, Cullen did not seem bothered by her lacklustre performance. He was smiling back at her, cautiously, but not without warmth, and Bridget was starting to notice, with slight panic, a fluttering sensation in her stomach. She scolded herself internally, but what hope did she have when someone- let alone _that_ man- was looking at her like that.

Fortunately- or unfortunately, she wasn't sure- whilst they had been talking, the session had come to an end.

“Oh,”

“We should er-”

“Yeah,”

They stood, putting on their coats as Cole came over to collect their work.

“So,” Bridget said, picking up her bag. “Are you going to give it another go next week?” She was very deliberately not looking at him as they headed for the door, because it made it easier to pretend she wasn’t invested in his answer.

“Yeah,” he said- and Bridget’s stomach absolutely did not do a little flip. “I think I will.”

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

  
“So are you going to see her again?”

Cullen was attempting to watch TV when Bull got home. He was too distracted by his unexpected encounter with Bridget to pay any real attention to the show, or to have noticed the paint stain on his shirt. Bull, of course, spotted it within seconds, and Cullen’s whirring mind couldn’t spare the operating power to craft an alternative explanation- so he confessed all.

“Well she asked if I was going to go next week,” Cullen sighed. “And I said yes- for some reason.”

“You said yes **_because you want to see her again._** ” Bull grinned over the rim of his mug of Bovril.

Cullen sighed again rather than admit aloud that Bull was right.

“You wouldn’t be this worked up about it if you weren’t into her.”

“I’m not worked up.” He huffed.

“Interesting that you’re not denying being into her…”

“ _Bull_.”

“Just hear me out, okay? The Lyrium, the Templars… all that stuff is pretty much top of your list of reasons you tell yourself you can’t have a relationship- right?”

“It’s definitely high up there, yeah.” Cullen conceded warily.

“Well…” Bull waved his free hand in a way that suggested Cullen was missing something incredibly obvious. “She already _knows_ about your shit doesn’t she? Problem solved.”

“Okay, firstly, she knows about some of my shit.”

Bull snorted.

“Well you say she’s smart and she knows you were a _freaking Templar_ \- she’ll expect there to be… stuff.”

“Secondly,” Cullen continued. “Just because she didn’t run screaming from me doesn’t mean she’d find my… perculiarities tolerable in a, a-”

“ _Lover_.” Bull leered.

“Maker’s breath, are you trying to make this as difficult as possible?”

Bull toned down his grin but carried on.

“Well presumably she’s got her own shit to deal with if she’s going there too.” Cullen hadn’t disclosed anything Bridget had told him to Bull, but he was far from stupid. “So… I mean I know it’s complicated- but that might mean you’re well equipped to… accept each other… support each other- whatever. **_And,_ ** you need your space, right? But people don’t get that, they think you’re avoiding them. Well I’d bet she probably needs her space too. There's probably loads of stuff like that you have in common.”

“So just pair off the crazies? Is that it?” Cullen said, somewhat churlishly he knew.

“No,” Bull said patiently. “You are two people who seem interested in each other and well suited for many reasons, **including but not limited to** certain… difficulties.”

“I don’t have any reason to think she’s interested in me.” Cullen insisted.

“Cullen,” Bull sighed then continued in a frank tone. “I don’t think you’re capable of noticing someone showing an interest in you. You don’t want a hook up, you want a relationship, but you’ve got it into your head that you categorically cannot have that- so why bother even noticing opportunities?”

There was silence for a couple of moments.

“Even if Bridget were interested in me that way,” Cullen continued, earning a small sigh from Bull. “-which I have no reason to think she is. I don’t know if she likes men, or _anyone_ that way for that matter, let alone me specifically-”

“But supposing, _hypothetically_ …”

“Hypothetically,” Cullen insisted. “She would still deserve better… just because she's… troubled doesn’t mean she deserves someone damaged.”

“Cullen, I don’t have much advice to offer regarding women-”

“That’s a lie.” Cullen snorted.

“Okay, I have _tonnes_ of advice about women- one of my most important tips being: _‘Never try and tell them what they deserve_ ’.”

“Look, Bull, I-” Cullen sighed, rubbing his jaw. “I do… like her, okay?”

“Progress!”

“But-”

“Ah, of course there’s a but.”

“ _But_ , because of that it’s better that I just attempt to be her friend. She’s been… I don’t know… _kind_ \- and I’m not going to repay that by…”

“Telling her you want to suck her face.” Bull supplied with a nod.

“Must you be so crass about bloody everything?” Cullen groaned.

“Ah but this is _interesting_  Cullen, don’t you see?” Bull slapped his knee. “This is different from your clinical shit. _This_ ,” he jabbed a finger into Cullen’s shoulder. “-is you not wanting to be some creepy ‘Nice Guy’ fucker acting like he’s entitled to a woman because just she’s been kind to him. And _that,_ is totally ordinary and **sane** , Cullen. That’s not a pathology talking, that’s **you**.”

“So what does that mean?” Cullen asked, shaking his head.

“I dunno, but it’s something. What does your therapist say about all of this?” Cullen said nothing. “Oh come on, man.” Bull said, exasperated. “You can’t hold stuff back from them that’s playing on your mind this much.”

“But I don’t go there for this stuff,” Cullen insisted, though he knew Bull was right. “I can’t very well say _‘Oh can we forget about the PTSD this week, I’d like to talk about a girl?’_.”

“You can though!” Bull cried. “It’s all connected and shit, isn’t it?”

Cullen said nothing, and Bull continued.

“Alright, alright. I think you’re probably right about being her friend, for now at least. Even if you weren’t being so stubborn, this wouldn’t be something to rush. Try and get to know her, see what happens.”

“Nothing is going to happen.” Said Cullen, doing his best to ignore how the words ached.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

In the end, it wasn’t a week before Cullen saw Bridget again. As he headed out the door on Thursday morning, he got a text from Thom. As determined by their carpool schedule, Cullen was picking up Blackwall from home today- or so he had thought. But according to the text, Thom wasn’t at home- he was at Josephine’s, presumably having stayed there the previous night. Cullen smiled, pleased for his friend as he sent a reply saying he didn’t mind picking him up from there as he had asked. It wasn’t much of a detour, so he agreed without really thinking about it. It was only once he was in the car that he started wondering if he’d see Bridget. Probably not. He’d just be waiting for Blackwall to get in the car, which wouldn’t take very long. It would be fine. Not that he didn’t want to see her. Not exactly. He just hadn’t been expecting to see her. Maker, she’d think he was following her at this rate.

Occupied as he was with worry, he seemed to arrive at Haven road very quickly. Once he’d parked, Cullen sent Thom a text to let him know he’d arrived. After a couple of minutes there was still no sign and they were running the risk of being late. Sighing, Cullen got out of the car, feeling uncomfortably like he was picking Blackwall up before prom. He’d only travelled a couple of feet from his car when the door opened revealing Thom, and behind him, Josephine. Blackwall waved to Cullen then turned back to sweep Josephine into a languorous kiss. Cullen looked around awkwardly for a few moments before looking back to find them still very much occupied. Cullen glanced at his watch, then back up. A third figure had now appeared behind them. As they separated to let her through, Cullen recognised Bridget and something in his abdomen started to flutter. He smiled as he realised she was blushing, presumably embarrassed about interrupting Thom and Josephine. She hadn’t spotted him yet but Cullen had a couple of seconds at most to figure out a greeting.

“Oh,” Bridget smiled quizzically as she noticed him. “Good morning.”

“I’m not following you, I promise.” Cullen said quickly, stupidly- apparently unable to just say 'Hi'.

But Bridget just smiled and glanced back at the house, where Josephine was carefully smoothing creases in Thom’s shirt.

“They seem to be getting on… ah, well.”

“He was smitten the second he saw her.” Cullen smiled.

“I think Josie was much the same.” Bridget nodded. “There’s been a lot of wistful sighing and humming.”

Blackwall had finally separated from Josephine and walked over to Cullen and Bridget.

“Good morning” he said, nodding at both of them.

“Better for some of us than others I think,” said Bridget, with an amused glance at Cullen.

Cullen laughed and Blackwall just shrugged with a smile.

“I should be getting to work,” Bridget said, fishing her keys out of her coat pocket.

“Yeah, us too, if Thom is quite finished.”

“I am, thank you, yes.” Thom said happily. “I’ll see you around Bridget.”

“I expect I will,” Bridget said wryly. “I’ll see you on Monday, Cullen?”

“Yes definitely.” Cullen said quickly.

Bridget smiled and nodded again before heading to her car. When she reached it, she turned back and gave a brief wave before she got it- only then did Cullen realise that he’d been watching her leave. Embarrassed, he waved back and turned to his car. Blackwall was waiting on the passenger side for Cullen to unlock it, staring at him in an odd sort of way.

“What?” Cullen asked, as they got in.

“You definitely like her.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sure you don’t. What’s happening on Monday?”

“Nothing that’s any concern of yours.”

“I’d bet she likes you too you know.”

“If you don’t drop this, I’m putting the radio on.”

“Empty threat. You hate my singing.”

“Not as much as I hate this conversation.”

“Damn, if you’re this desperate not to talk about it you really must be-”

“Thom.”

“Alright, alright.”

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can see how it might seem strange that they tell each other some fairly big stuff quite casually, in room full of people. My explanation for that is that group therapy is FREAKING WEIRD. It's so strange. You're in a room full of people and you know that all of them are there because they have X/have experienced X/had X happen to them... So it's weirdly freeing. Because you know you're all in similar boats. You end up saying all sorts of stuff. Not everything obviously. But certain things are so much easier because the fear or judgement isn't quite the same. It still SUCKS though. It's horrendous. At least, that's my experience of it, and most people I've asked have agreed. But obviously experiences vary.   
> ANYWAY, that was just an attempt at an explanation in case that felt strange.  
> Thank you very much for sticking with this so far.
> 
> Oh, and Bull drinking Bovril is another joke with the Mahariel Taxidermy friend. Bovril powers the Qun. It tastes better than Maras Lok.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really didn't intend for this next chapter to take so long! I'm sorry about that- especially since I'm so amazed that people have subscribed to/bookmarked this. Thank you very much. Life has been uncooperative, but here it is, such as it is.   
> I keep forgetting to mention that this isn't beta read or anything. All of the mistakes are unfortunately my own.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

“Do they not let you take what you make home?” Leliana asked, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel as she waited for the lights to change. 

“I haven’t asked, to be honest.” Bridget replied. “But I’m not producing anything you’d put on the wall, Leli.” 

“Well we need something for in the gents.” Leliana mused. “Above the urinals.”

“ _Wow_ , what an offer.” Bridget deadpanned and Leliana let out a little chuckle. 

“I think perhaps this is all a cover story and really you’ve joined a cult… or a flashmob.” 

“You always leap right to cults or flashmobs.” Bridget sighed.

“One day, I will be right. Hopefully about the flashmob.” 

The Greenfell Centre was not far from Leliana’s patisserie. Leliana was dropping Bridget off for the art group, then heading on to work where Bridget would meet her afterwards. 

“Well,” sighed Bridget as Leliana pulled over. “Wish me luck.”

“Paint something pretty- or, not pretty but therapeutically useful.” 

“Only if you make sure there’s something with far too much sugar in it waiting for me afterwards.”

“Deal.”

Bridget waved as Leliana sped off down the street, then headed inside. She became increasingly aware of her heartbeat as she walked, suddenly far too warm. Was Cullen going to turn up? Did she want him to? Yes. Mostly. No, _definitely._ She… liked talking to him. A lot in fact. It just happened to also come with some complications- like this stupid fluttery feeling in her stomach and a desperate preoccupation with what he thought of her. Though she would never admit it aloud, privately she could concede that she seemed to be developing a little crush. A silly little crush. But she could get over it. She’d done it before and she could do it again. Hell, when she’d first started at the hospital she’d had a thing for Anders of all people, just because he was kind to her- and she’d moved past that within a couple of months. Or there was her brother’s friend Sebastian whom she’d briefly been besotted with in her early twenties… But she’d recognised the impossibility and frivolity of these infatuations, focused on that and moved past it. That is what she would do with Cullen. Soon she’d feel nothing beyond friendship for him- this was just the difficult stage. Hopefully she wasn’t being too obvious. The last thing she wanted to do was to repay his trust and kindness with unwanted attention born of girlish fancies. Maker, the possibilities were mortifying. 

Embarrassingly, once in the room, she spotted him instantly. He was glancing around as though he was looking for someone, and though Bridget assured herself it was not significant, he smiled broadly when he noticed her appearance. She rationalised it away as simple relief that the only other person he knew had arrived, but she didn’t manage to stop herself from smiling dopily back as she headed over to take the seat next to him. 

“Hi,” they both said at the same time. 

Infuriatingly, Bridget blushed as she took off her coat and sat down. Cullen, seemingly also embarrassed, was rubbing the back of his neck.

“Not painting this week,” he said, nodding at the tables in front of the circle of chairs.

“Hhm? Oh,” she said, leaning forward to look at the materials provided. “So… mosaics?” she asked, holding up one of the many small brightly coloured plastic squares. 

“Oh dear,” he frowned at his own supplies. 

“I know.” She agreed.

“And I was hoping to capitalise on all that previous painting experience I gained last week.”

“I suppose this miiiight be easier…” she said tentatively. “Just pick a pattern and stick to it, right?”

“Methodical, I like it.” He nodded with a small crooked smile.

The chatter of the room hushed as Cole welcomed the group and offered his usual vague instructions. 

“So, uh, how has your week been?” Cullen asked as they started.

“Um…” she said stupidly, brain stalling. “Not too bad thanks. Same as ever really- nothing exciting. How was yours?”

“Same here really. Varric’s in Kirkwall, so it’s been quiet.”

“Quiet is good,” she nodded, “For the most part.”

“Yeah, it’s a fine line.” He agreed. “Sometimes I think I could stand a little more… _noise,_ but I change my mind pretty quickly.”

“Mmmm… I can relate.” She frowned. “Maybe we just haven’t figured out the right kind of noise… oh Maker, if I carry on being this vague I’ll turn into a psychologist.”

Cullen chuckled.

“I prefer you as an epidemiologist.” 

“Now there’s an unlikely sentence.” 

“’Unlikely’ seems to be the theme of our acquaintance.” 

“That and miscommunication.”

“Hmmm, but I think we’re getting better.” She said, chancing a tentative smile. 

“We definitely are.” Cullen smiled back at her and Bridget felt slightly like she was staring at the sun. 

“I… think so too.”

“You, uh, you said that.”

They chatted with suprising ease for the rest of the session. Bridget learned that Cullen’s parents had been farmers, that he had left home for a residential military school in his early teens, and that his elder sister and brother had continued the family profession albeit in a different location.  His younger sister was travelling with friends, presently somewhere in Rivain. He lived with a friend, seemed to work far too hard, and- like Bridget- was embarrassed about his lack of hobbies. He asked about her family, her work, how long she had known Josephine and Leliana. What’s more, he seemed genuinely interested and gently pressed for more information beyond the brief, standardised answers she gave.   
At the end of the session, they walked out of the building together as they had done the previous week. This time however, Bridget had made a point of taking her work with her, explaining to Cullen, with slight embarrassment, that she needed to prove to Leliana that it really was an art group and not a cult. To her dismay, the weather had changed from cold, to cold _and_ wet.

“Crap,” Bridget sighed, putting up her hood as they lingered at the entrance. 

“Where are you parked?” Cullen asked, looking around.

“I’m not.” She explained “Leliana dropped me off. I’m supposed to be meeting her at the patisserie- it’s not far- well, it’s not far when it’s dry.”

“Do you want a lift?” Cullen asked.

“Oh, I couldn’t- thank you,” she said quickly after only a second or so of panic. “But I’ll be okay.”

“It’s no trouble.” He smiled. “It looks like it’s getting worse. But obviously it’s fine if you- no pressure I mean. But it’s really no bother.”

Bridget looked back at the rain. It really was miserable out there. She didn’t want to inconvenience Cullen, but neither did she want him to think she’d choose this weather over his company. It was kind of him to offer, and they were getting on so well…

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” she asked, turning back to him. “Because I’d hate to-”

“Bridget.” He stopped her, smiling wider. “It’s fine. Come on,” 

He pulled up his coat collar, looked out at the rain, then back at Bridget.

“Ready?” 

She adjusted her hood.

“Ready.”  
Cullen grinned at her then made a break across the car park. Unsurprisingly, Cullen was fast. She hadn’t really been expecting him to run, and shuffled after him as quickly as she could. Fortunately the car wasn’t far, and Cullen fumbling to unlock it gave her time to catch up. Once they were safely inside, they turned to each other and laughed. Cullen’s hair, she noticed, looked like it might be starting to curl now it was damp. Presumably he put something in it which was… exactly the sort of endearing detail she did **not** need to learning if she was attempting to quash this crush. 

“So…” she started

“We should um-”

“Yeah.”

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

  
“I don’t think I’ve ever been down this road before." Cullen said, as Bridget directed him. 

“It’s just down here on the left- with the purple sign.”

Cullen parked outside the patisserie and turned to Bridget.

“Thank you so much, Cullen.” She was smiling at him and suddenly it felt very warm in the car. 

“It was no trouble,” he said again, hoping she didn't notice a slight waver in his voice.

“Would you um-” Bridget glanced at the shop, then back at Cullen. “Would you like to come in? Have a cake or something on me? It’s nice and um- I mean obviously not if you don’t want to- and you probably have better stuff to do- but if you didn’t-”

“That’d be nice, thank you.” Cullen replied, surprising himself with how easily he decided to accept her offer. “I mean, as long as I’m not intruding or anything…”

“No, not at all.” She said eagerly, smiling wider.

“Okay then,” he smiled back.

“Okay,” 

They sat there smiling bashfully at each other until Bridget seemed to suddenly remember that they would need to get out of the car. 

“Oh, right.” 

Cullen suppressed a chuckle as they got out of the car. She was blushing, he noticed. Not that it meant anything. There were lots of reasons to blush, maker knew he blushed at bloody everything. As they reached the door she turned back to him.

“It’s very… Orlesian. So uh, brace yourself.”

Bridget wasn’t kidding. From the outside it was a fairly unremarkable, though well maintained, building. The interior however, resembled that of an Orlesian stately home- or at least, how Cullen imagined an Orlesian stately home looked. There was a lot of… gilt. 

“Wow.” 

Bridget laughed and lead him over to a table against the far wall. She exchanged a brief wave with a tattooed elf who was making his way to another table with a tray of cakes.   
“This is how the house would have looked if we’d let Leli decorate,” Bridget said as they shrugged out of their coats and sat down. 

“Apart from there’d be more nugs?”

She smiled as though surprised he’d remembered. 

“Definitely more nugs.” She nodded. “I think her real dream job is breeding fancy show nugs.”

“My friend Alistair- who used to live at Haven road with me- inherited… well, inherited a company really. A huge one- Theirin Co.”

“WOW.” She breathed.

“I know. Totally out of the blue. Anyway, I think really he’d be totally happy raising orphaned mabari somewhere.”

“Is he unhappy doing what he’s doing now?” she asked, frowning slightly.

“No he’s doing great.” He shook his head. “As long as he’s with Eowyn- his fiance- he’s happy.”

“Do you miss him?” she asked softly.

Cullen thought for a moment.

“Yeah I do. Both of them really- Eowyn was at Haven Road too. But I’ve known Alistair a long time. He was almost a Templar- but he had the sense to get out at the last second. I’m glad he did, obviously. I wouldn’t want him to have been in the same situation I was-”

“But it’s hard to have that reminder in your face without resenting him for it at least a little bit?”

Cullen leant forward on an exhale. 

“Exactly. Which must sound terrible because it’s not his fault and it’s not like I want him to have gone through all that. And Maker knows he’s had all sorts of other stuff to deal with.”

“It doesn’t sound terrible.” Bridget said, with a sad sort of smile. “But I know why you think it does. I do exactly the same thing with my friends and then I beat myself up about it. And stupidly, being able to see that _you_ shouldn’t feel bad about this does absolutely nothing to convince _me_  that _I_ shouldn’t feel bad about pretty much identical behaviour.” She shrugged. “So I sort of get it. A bit.”

Cullen was trying to figure out what to say in response when the elf from earlier appeared, seemingly from nowhere.

“Ah the exquisite Ms Trevelyan,” he purred in an Antivan accent,taking her hand and bowing low to press a kiss to it. Cullen chastised himself for the misplaced discomfort he felt at the display of easy familiarity. “I shall let the boss know you’re here. In the mean time, something nice for you and your charming companion?” He turned to Cullen with a dazzling smile. “Tea? Coffee?”

“Uh- tea, please.”

“Excellent, we have Orlesian Rose, Golden Chamomile, Elfroot Infusion-”

“Um, Fereldan Breakfast?” he interjected, sensing that the unimpeded list could take some time.

“But of course.” He nodded. “And for you Bridget?”

“The same please.”

“You wishes are my command.”

“Thank you Zevran.” Bridget smiled as the elf disappeared with a flourish.

“Do you know him well?” Cullen asked, doing everything he could to make it sound casually conversational.

“Oh, not really.” She replied. “He’s an old friend of Leliana’s, so I’ve known him… tangentially for quite a while- met his girlfriend a couple of times. But I don’t actually know him in much depth. He’s just… charismatic.” 

“I wonder what that’s like.” He mused.

Bridget laughed, then paused as though she was considering something.

“Cullen-”

But she was cut off by the appearance of Leliana. 

“I was going to apologise because I’ll have to keep you waiting a bit longer before we can leave.” Said the redhead as she breezed over to their table. “But I see you have company to entertain you.” 

Bridget rolled her eyes at her friend.

“I’m sure you remember Cullen, Lel.”

“But of course,” she said with a brilliant smile. 

“Nice to see you again,” Cullen nodded. 

“Zev has seen to you?”

“Yes,”

“Good good, I’m going to send you over some Punschkrapfen.”

“Some what?” Bridget asked, before Cullen could.

“It’s from the Anderfels” Leliana said, waving her hand. “I’m considering switching it with the canelé on the afternoon menus, let me know what you think.”

She floated away, passing Zevran on his way back to the table.

“Two Fereldan Breakfast Teas- you adventurous pair,” he set down their drinks, followed by two dainty plates each bearing a pale pink cube iced with little hearts. “And two punschkrapfen… If you need anything, I will be but a moment, checking on our dear Sera.”

He danced away, leaving them in silence. Cullen waited to see if Bridget would continue with whatever she had begun to say before Leliana appeared. 

“I wasn’t expecting it to be so…”

“Pink?” he supplied with a slight smile.

“Yeah,” she smiled, poking it slightly with her cake fork. “Although it’s entirely possible that the… cuteness is a Leliana touch.” 

Without further ado, they dug in, chatting idly as they did so. He asked her more about her work at the hospital and she happily told him, seeming pleasantly surprised by his interest. Cullen felt oddly at peace, sat there sipping his tea listening to Bridget, periodically encouraging her to continue. Naturally he still felt a little anxious, but he suspected that was largely because of his steadily growing crush- which had been given a steroid injection by the day's events. Beyond that, he actually felt sort of… content. 

At least until Leliana materialised out of thin air, making both of them jump.

“Andraste’s tits, Leliana,” Bridget huffed. “We’ve talked about this.”

“It’s hardly my fault if the two of you are… _distracted._ ” Leliana smiled, shooting Cullen a knowing look. “How was the punschkrapfen?”

“Very nice.” Cullen nodded, shifting in his seat slightly. 

“As usual.” Bridget added. 

“Well that’s no help at all,” Leliana sighed. “If you hadn’t liked it the decision would have been easy." She sighed again.  "I’m pretty much done Bridge, unless of course…” 

Her eyes slid over to Cullen once again.

“Ah, I should probably be going.” Cullen said, taking our his wallet.

“Oh don’t be silly, it’s on the house,” said Leliana, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh! But Cullen?” she cried suddenly.

“Ye-es?” he said nervously, glancing at Bridget.

“You must come to Bridget’s party next week.”

“I uh-”

“It’s a surprise party,” Leliana continued. “For her birthday.”

“A surprise?” Cullen asked, confused. Across the table, Bridget was rolling her eyes.

“Well she won’t discuss anything to do with her birthday, so it has to be a surprise, but she’s also not great with having things sprung on her, so she has to know about it.” Leliana explained with a shrug. 

“I’m not sure I follow.” He said honestly.

“Well all you have to do is turn up,” she smiled. “I’ll send you the details. You will come won’t you?”

“I-”

“Excellent. I’ll see you then. I’m just going to grab my stuff from the office Bridge.”

“Maker, I’m so sorry.” Bridget groaned as Leliana disappeared again. “The whole thing is insane. I’d really rather they didn’t do anything- but I think they think they’re being bad friends if they ignore it. It’s sweet of them, but I’m dreading it. Is that terrible?”

“I think I’d be the same.” Cullen said with a small smile. “Can you definitely not get out of it?”

“No,” she sighed. “I have thought about faking some terrible injury, but they’d just postpone it.” She paused, seeming to think for a moment. “But I mean, if you did want to… Not that there’s any reason you would… and I completely understand… but Thom will probably be there… so if you did want to come… it might be… nice.”

She’d been getting pinker and pinker as she spoke, addressing more of what she said to her teacup than to Cullen.

“I'd like that,” he said, feeling his face heat slightly. “Thank you.” 

“Great,” she said, blushing even further, but smiling. “Well then I guess I’ll see you at the party I don’t know is happening.”

“If it weren’t top secret I would tell you I’m looking forward to it.” 

“Looking forward to what?”

“Exactly.”

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may come back and tweak teeny parts of this. Nothing plot related. Just phrasing that bugs me but I can't do anything with right this second.  
> I'm attempting the whole 'deliberately vague Trevelyan appearance' thing so you can sort of paint your own inquisitor. But I realise that there are limits to that. Really it's 'choose your own hair colour, skintone etc' whilst things like mobility and I guess body type are sort of inherently implied. This trope or whatever is never really as inclusive as I'd want it to be. And I may have failed even in the little I could do and implied characteristics without realising. So yeah, sorry about that. I simply don't have the skill to really make it an 'insert your own Trev' deal. But I've had a go.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fic isn't dead!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello anyone who is still here!  
> I'm sorry this has taken so long. Two explanations. 1. I did not plan this fic far enough ahead! 2. I had one version of this chapter that went too autobiographical and oversharey. That was lazy in the extreme and also mortifying once I realised. So I needed time to recover from my shame. The version that made it is also much less depressing! Plus, y'know, I'm just generally a mess so that got in the way. I'm also sorry if I haven't responded to any comments yet! I will get round to it and I am grateful. 
> 
> When we left off, (so so long ago) Leliana had invited Cullen to Bridget's not-surprise, surprise party. Bridget and Cullen were continuing to be insecure, self-flagellating saps. 
> 
> The way my next couple of weeks are looking it was post this now or post it in a month. And if I wait a month I'll decide I hate it and throw it out. So quick, take it! Regardless of quality!

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

  
Bridget’s birthday rolled around with it’s traditional companions: dread and regret. After a lengthy “what have I done with my life?” cry the night before, she sighed her way down the stairs in the morning to find colourful bunting draped from every available surface in the living room, a very large bouquet of her favourite flowers (all of which were out of season and presumably acquired somehow by Josephine), and an elaborate spread of breakfast delicacies arranged artfully on the dining room table. She was smiling softly at… well, all of it, when the kitchen door opened and her housemates bustled through bearing large carafes of water and orange juice.

  
“Bridget!” they beamed in unison, hurrying to free their arms, the better to trap her in a hug between them.

“You guys! You didn’t have to-”

“We wanted to, so we did, and you have no need to feel bad about it.” Leliana said firmly, but gently her head perched on Bridget’s shoulder.

“I love both of you very very much.” Bridget smiled.

“We know,” said Josephine as they released her. “Now come and have something to eat. No presents yet of course- that’s for later.”

“Oh you shouldn’t ha-”

“I thought we agreed on Josie’s last birthday that we weren’t going to do the _‘oh please don’t get me anything_ ’ routine any more because we all know that we will _always_ buy each other birthday presents- financial disasters notwithstanding?” Leliana mused, presenting her with a plate of various treats.

“Ah, but it’s been your birthday since, and I seem to remember we went through the same old dance then too.” Bridget gestured with a pastry fork for emphasis.

“Touché.”

“Have you heard from your parents?” Josephine asked, pouring herself a glass of juice.

“Yeah, I’ve had a text and I’m going to call them on my lunch break.” Bridget replied. “I’ve also inexplicably had several thoughtfully composed Fadebook messages from various members of _your_ family I have only met once before in passing.”

“The Montilyets are a congenial and organised clan,” Leliana mused.

“And Yvette spends too much time on Fadebook.” Muttered Josephine.

“Are you excited about your surprise?” Leliana’s eyes were sparkling in a way that Bridget had learned to be wary of.

“I’m… not sure…” she said slowly, narrowing her eyes.

“Don’t tease her Leli,” chided Josephine. “It’ll be harder to herd her into the car this evening if she’s worked up.”

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

That evening, having been successfully herded into a taxi by Leliana, Josephine and Isabela, Bridget was nervous. Watching Skyhold roll past, she fiddled with the neckline of her dress, which somehow felt too tight and too loose all at once. It was a deep red, and had been a present from Dorian- the only present she had been allowed to receive before that evening and which she had been instructed to open and wear. It was objectively beautiful. That was undeniable- and not so elaborate that she felt utterly foolish in it. But Bridget felt it’s charm suffered somewhat when she was the one wearing it. Regardless, Dorian would have been mortally offended if she’d turned up in anything else, and the knowledge that she was wearing it because she had been instructed to, and not by her own choice, made her somewhat braver. She couldn’t be accused of trying too hard if the choice had been someone else’s. But still, she felt… silly. As though she was dressing up as someone more attractive and glamorous, and making a fool of herself in the process.

“Oh poppet, try not to look quite so much like you’re doing to be sick.” Isabela, sat opposite her in the cab, looking radiant in cobalt blue silk and gold accessories, even whilst perched on one of those awful fold-down backwards, facing seats.

“I can’t figure out where we could be going,” Bridget muttered. “What is there over this side of town… _Oh fuck,_ isn’t that indoor trampolining place somewhere near here? Tell me it’s not that.”

“As if any of you lot could go trampolining without taking an eye out.” Leliana drawled.

“What?” Josephine questioned, looking up from her phone.

“Tits.” Clarified Isabela, with a wistful smile.

“Er,” their driver began awkwardly, “Is it the main building or…?”

“The main one please,” Josephine answered as Bridget leaned to see out the window on the other side of the cab.

“The Botanical Gardens?”

“TA DA” Leliana and Isabela chimed in unison.

“Okay… okay, that isn’t… horrifying.” Bridget mused with some relief, processing the development. “This could be... _nice_ , actually...”

“I know it’s night… and Firstfall,” Josephine said, as they waited outside the cab for Leliana to pay. “But bear with it.”

“As if I would ever doubt you.”

Isabela snorted.

“Five minutes ago you were ready to Ladybird out of moving car because you convinced yourself you were being taken trampolining.”

“I said I would never doubt Josie,” Bridget clarified, bumping her shoulder into Isabela’s. “You and Leli sent me fairy cakes iced with lewd messages at work this morning.”

“That was Sera’s idea and she worked really hard on them.”

"Well tell her from me that, whilst she makes  _stunning_ marzipan labia, they are _not safe for work_." 

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

  
The details Leliana had sent Cullen described it as an ‘indoor garden party.- which had confused him to no end. Thom had for the most part failed his assignment to extract further details from Josephine- Cullen suspected he probably had better things to be doing in their time together than play double agent. Dressing was stressful. It was a garden party. But it was indoor. But it was still Firstfall, and snow was expected any day now. Fortunately, he couldn’t agonise over it for too long, as he had agreed to pick Thom up.

“Looking sharp, mate.” Blackwall said, nudging him as they walked towards the main entrance.

“What?” Cullen looked down at himself nervously. “Too much? I wasn’t trying- I didn’t know what-”

“Maferath’s balls, relax, Cullen.” Thom clapped him on the shoulder as they entered the builing. “You look good. Forget I said anything if it’s going to send steam out of your ears. Ah, I’ve met him, that must be us over there.”

Cullen followed his gaze to find a familiar, mustachioed man walking towards them.

“Ah you’re here Thom, excellent. And I see you’ve gone all out on Bridget’s present.”” He turned his glittering gaze, to Cullen.

“Dorian, this is-” Thom started.

“We’re acquainted,” Cullen said quickly.

“But not nearly so well as I would like,” Dorian added, eyes sparkling. “Anyway, follow me. Can’t have you littering up the atrium when they get here.”

They followed Dorian through to the room the party was being held in- a ‘room’ which turned out to be a rather spectacular, octagonal, wrought iron and glass greenhouse. It had to be at least a hundred and fifty years old, dating back to when Ferelden aristocracy took it upon themselves to bring back botanical souvenirs from their travels across Thedas- usually from significantly warmer climates. Judging from the temperature and resident fauna, this was a temperate glasshousehouse, rather than a tropical one. It felt like a pleasantly warm summer’s day- not stifling, not humid, and very much not the bitter Firstfall evening it was outside. Paths ran between the outer wall and the raised, central platform, dividing the plant beds into geographic sections. A maintenance platform was suspended from the roof above the central area, where the greenhouse’s height was greatest- about three storeys- and accessed via a wrought iron walkway and spiral staircase. Lights dropped from the platform in an effulgent curtain over the deck, which was occupied by scattered tables, with the centre presumably left clear for dancing. It was, Cullen thought, rather like something out a film. Lights twinkled subtley everywhere Cullen looked, mirrored by the winter stars overhead.

Beside him, Thom let out a whistle as he looked around.

“Damn, Josie is good.” He said proudly.

“That she is,” Dorian agreed, leading them between beds labelled ‘Antivan Dryland’ and ‘Cumber River Basin’ and into the main party area. “Right, drinks are over there, nibbles are over there- oh, wait, you’re new to these un-suprise parties aren’t you?” Thom and Cullen nodded.

“When Bridget arrives, we do _not_ , yell surprise.” Dorian instructed, sternly. “We do not acknowledge that she has arrived at all.”

“We ignore-” Thom started.

“Of course we don’t _ignore her_ ,” Dorian rolled his eyes. “We ignore her _arrival_. Bridget and the others slip in without it being a big ‘everyone staring at them’ moment, seamlessly integrating into the festivities- then by all means follow her around like a Mabari if you are so inclined…” His eyes slid pointedly over Cullen. “Anyway, I’m on lookout duty- I trust you can amuse yourselves for the moment?”

Dorian floated back towards the entrance, leaving Cullen and Thom loitering somewhat awkwardly beside, but not at, a table. Largely for something to do, they headed to the bar that had been set up against a verdant backdrop of plants from the Arlathan Forest. As it turned out, another familiar face was waiting there.

“Aha, my friend! How nice to see you again!”

Cullen racked his memory to retrieve the name of the elf from the patisserie as he was clapped on the shoulder.

“Zevran,” Cullen said, with a genuine smile, relieved that he knew someone else. “Good to see you. This is-”

“Ah but you must be _Thom_ ,” Zevran arched a brow as he shook Blackwall’s hand. “I have heard all about you.”

“ _Oh_?” Blackwall said nervously. Cullen, delighted that he was not the one blushing for once, decided then and there that he quite liked Zevran.

“All good things!” Zevran reassured him, only to add in a lower voice, “ _Verrry good things_.”

Blackwall was definitely blushing now, and Cullen,nerves pushed aside for the moment, was on the verge of grinning.

“Are you teasing these poor shems?”

An elvhen woman, with a litling Dalish accent had appeared behind Zevran, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind and perching up on her toes slightly to rest her chin on his shoulder. The intricate valaslin across her brow and cheekbones accentuated the wry sparkle in her deep green eyes.

“But mio tesoro, this is Josephine’s gallant.” He said, as she came around to reverse their positions.

“Oooh, Mr Rainier,” her eyes widened playfully. “I have heard things about you,”

Blackwall was past blushing, and was now starting to go rather pale.

“We are only toying with you, Thom.” Zevran assured him with a grin. “This is Nellas. Nellas, Thom you are aware of, and this is Cullen.”

“Nice to meet you Cullen,” Nellas smiled. “How do you know Bri-”

But she was cut off by the sudden appearance of a slightly panicked looking, wiry man with shoulder length blonde hair.

“They’re nearly here. Everyone remember to-”

“Yes Anders we know,” Nellas said with an affectionate roll of her eyes, as the man dashed off to remind another group of people. “That man needs to relax.”

Zevran shrugged.

“We could offer to help with that.”

Nellas grinned and turned to loop her arms around Zevran’s neck.

“You have the best ideas,”

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

They continued chatting with the couple, and were introduced to several more guests: Lace and Merrill, who were both very friendly, and Morrigan, who was civil, but seeimgly preoccupied with checking for messages from her babysitter. Ignoring Bridget’s arrival proved harder in practice than in theory. Blackwall kept smacking his arm and smirking when he caught Cullen glancing towards the door. Cullen was listening, with distracted interest, to Merril talk about the medicinal properties of various Anderfels shrubs, when she suddenly gave a small squeak.

“They’re here!”

Turning around before he could think to stop himself, Cullen saw Bridget, Josephine, Leliana, Isabela and Dorian slip into the glasshouse.

“Don’t look Cullen,” Merrill giggled. “Doesn’t Bridget look pretty?”

“I-” Bridget had been surrounded by her friends and he hadn’t really gotten to see her. He started to turn, but stopped himself, which Merrill noticed with another laugh.

Seconds later, there was a swell of noise from behind them, and both he and Merrill turned despite protocol. Bridget was laughingly delightedly and enveloped by a tall man in a hug that practically lifted her from the floor. Around her, the others were similarly amused. Cullen noticed that Blackwall had managed to already gravitate over to Josephine despite his chastisement of Cullen’s eagerness. Bridget stepped back from the man, smiled broadly, then threw her arms around him again. Cullen felt a little sick.

“I think that’s Bridget’s brother,” Merrill said beside him. “Just in case you were wondering… for any reason.”

Cullen strongly suspected she was trying to seem nonchalant in the face of deep amusement.

“Oh?” he said finally, trying not to sound too affected.

“Oh,” she agreed, finally giving into a giggle.

“Merrill darling come dance with me!” Isabela called from the dancefloor.

“Coming Bela!” Merrill turned back to Cullen and beamed at him encouragingly as she said “Go and say hello!”, before heading over to her friend.

Cullen smiled back, but began to feel panic rising, now standing awkwardly alone. He looked around for Blackwall in desperation, although he didn’t particularly want to be a third wheel to he and Josephine.

“And who do we have here?” came a voice from behind him.

Dorian was approaching, with one brow arched amusedly and one arm looped through Bridget’s beside him. She looked nervous, but happy, and Cullen’s breath caught in his throat as he looked at her.

“Isn’t our birthday girl looking ravishing this evening?” Dorian asked, and Cullen was trying to figure out how to verbalise his hearty agreement without embarrassing himself when Bridget spoke.

“I think Anders needs you for something.” She said pointedly,unlooping their arms. “ ** _Over there_**.”

“The dress was a gift from me,” Dorian continued archly,  “It’s a beautiful fabric, you must _feel_ it Cullen-”

“Yes _thank you_ , Dorian.” She glared, batting away his appraising hand. Dorian grinned at her before walking away, shooting Cullen a wink as he did.

“Maker, I’m sorry.” She groaned. “He’s very… himself tonight.”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, keen to divert her discomfort. “He’s right- I mean, you do look-” _For the love of Andraste, don’t say ‘ravishing’_ … “-beautiful.”

If he hadn’t been blushing before he definitely was now, but so was Bridget.

“I-” she looked down at her shoes, then back up at him through her lashes . “Thank you.”

“You’re, ah, welcome.” He heard himself say dimly.

They stared at each other for a period of time somewhere between 5 seconds and several hours, until Bridget snapped them out of it by speaking.

“I’m really glad you came.” She said earnestly. “I know it’s a bit of a neurotic set up.”

“It’s a great set up.” Cullen replied, quickly.  “I’m surprised more people don’t throw _‘not-surprise’_ parties.”

“Most people aren’t Leliana and Josephine.” Bridget shrugged with a smile.

“True,” he agreed. “I think Thom might be a little terrified of Leliana.”

“Oh that’s an entirely appropriate reaction I promise.” Bridget grinned.

“So is this all friends, or friends and family, or…?”

“Friends mostly.” She replied. “One of my brothers came from Ostwick as a surprise, the affectionate but chaotic one… where’s he gone…” she looked around then shrugged. “Probably propping up the bar. But it’s friends other than him.”

“I er, I didn’t know what to get you,” he began, retrieving his gift.

“Oh!” Bridget gasped. “You didn’t have to get me anything!”

“It’s your birthday,” she shrugged with a lopsided smile, as he passed it to her.

“You’ve only known me a few weeks.”

“Well I’m hoping to _continue_ to know you, so…” he replied, managing to sound far more confident than he felt.

“Thank you, Cullen,” Bridget said softly, reaching to gently squeeze his hand for a brief moment that sent his heart fluttering. “Is it okay if I open it now?”

“Yes of course,”

Bridget grinned at him as she began to unwrap her gift.

“I didn’t know what to get you,” he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “It’s not much, and if you don’t like it I-”

Bridget’s sharp gasp cut him off.

“Is this what I- _It is_!” She was beaming at him, eyes darting comically back and forth between his face and the advanced copy of Varric’s latest _‘Swords and Shields'_  instalment she was clutching tightly.

“If you er-” he gestured lamely at the book, but somehow she knew what he meant and reverently opened the book, revealing Varric’s signature and inscription. Cullen had been very strict with Varric regarding his message, suspecting (correctly) that his first instinct would be to thoroughly embarrass Cullen. Varric relented suprisingly quickly, and settled for writing a non-mortifying, birthday appropriate note… and then pestering Cullen mercilessly for information about his- as he insisted on putting it in an outrageous Orlesian accent- _‘ héroïne romantique’_.

“Cullen, I…” she started, eyes finally lifting from her hands. “I love it. Thank you so much.” She took half a step towards him then hesitated. “Is it okay if I hug you?”

“I-”

Cullen promptly lost the power of speech, but managed to smile dorkily and lift his arms slightly in invitation. Bridget smiled back and stepped forward, stretching up onto her toes to fold her arms around him. Cullen had one hand on her upper back, and the other instinctively hovering near, but definitely not touching her waist. Hugging him probably felt like hugging a particularly awkward scarecrow. 

“Thank you,” she said softly, looking into his eyes as she sank slowly back to her normal height.

“Happy Birthday,” he said, slightly dazedly, realising that they’d somehow ended up with her hand in his once again. They smiled shyly at each other, and was Cullen imagining it, or did they seem to be gravitating closer…

“Great party Bridg!”

A dwarf with a precariously stacked plate of cakes in one hand, and several bottles of ale in the other, came barreling past, braided beard swinging with the motion. Cullen and Bridget were startled apart, and as quick as he had appeared, he was away, heading over to the tables.

“Thanks, Oghren,” Bridget called after the dwarf, fidgeting slightly with the hem of her dress. She was looking self conscious again, when just a moment ago she’d seemed so content. Cullen frowned. Then he had an idea. A potentially idiotic idea.

“Do you think we’re allowed up there?”

“What?” Bridget turned in the direction he nodded, then spotted the spiral staircase. “ _Oh,”_ She turned back to him, and half grinned. “Well they can’t get mad at the birthday girl, right?”

“Come on,” Cullen extended his hand, and she took it instantly, laughing as he led them over to the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled describing the glasshouse, but I sort of picture it as something like the Temperate House at Kew Gardens- which is worth a google and even a visit if you ever get the chance.   
> I couldn't resist the 'OH that's your sibling, not a romantic rival' trope, but also could not be arsed to maintain it as a plot point. It is included purely as an homage- though I hope to work in more of that brother.   
> If I hang around here I'm going to keep making excuses for parts of this until I chicken out of posting all together so I'll shut up.  
> Thank you so much if you are still reading this!


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